


Let Wildflowers Grow Free

by SpicedGold



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, Naruto
Genre: Aged up characters, Author has officially given up pretending she knows what plot and pacing are, Autistic!Inojin, Fanart in Chapter 10, M/M, Neurodivergent!Inojin, Now we're just winging it and calling it a story, Paper Flowers spin-off, The challenges of growing up, Trying to fit in when the world isn't made for you, canon-verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicedGold/pseuds/SpicedGold
Summary: As Inojin grows older, life gets harder. There are things he can’t figure out alone, that only affect him, and no one to ask, because no one else sees the world the way he sees it. He doesn’t know how to fit into a world that’s so clearly not made for him.Shikadai’s solution is to change the world.
Relationships: Akimichi Chouchou & Nara Shikadai & Yamanaka Inojin, Akimichi Chouchou & Yamanaka Inojin, Nara Shikadai & Yamanaka Inojin, Nara Shikadai/Yamanaka Inojin
Comments: 72
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story vaguely, not really, kinda follows 'Paper Flowers', but no knowledge of that is needed to read this. All you need to know is Inojin is neurodivergent/autistic. Now that's out the way, let's go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now have fanart!  
> Majsasaurus has given me a drawing based on a scene in chapter 10 - link is there.  
> Thanks again, Majsasaurus.

“Done,” Shikadai sat up triumphantly from plugging in the fridge. He threw a screwdriver casually onto the kitchen counter, and stretched his arms leisurely above his head. “We are officially moved in.”

“You’ve been living here for three weeks already,” Chocho pointed out, standing over him and handing him things as needed.

“But that,” Shikadai stood up, “was the last change we needed to make. This apartment is now one hundred per cent crazy-person friendly.”

“Takes some of the comfort out of it when you call me crazy,” Inojin remarked, sitting on the counter and occasionally drumming his feet into the cabinets below.

Shikadai shrugged. “The point is that now everything is perfect. There is not a surface or colour here that bothers you, the fridge is silent, squeaky floorboard has been fixed and,” Shikadai sent Chocho a look, “Thanks to me, the door no longer slams because I changed the lock to a quieter one.”

He stepped around the kitchen counter that divided it from the lounge area, throwing Inojin a soft, sideways smile as he went.

“Good job,” Chocho remarked. “So, did you make any changes for yourself, or did Inojin get a say on everything?”

“All I wanted was the couch and TV, everything else is Inojin-approved,” Shikadai said, flopping onto said couch. “From the curtains to my rewiring the fridge because it made too much noise.”

“It _was_ noisy, though,” Inojin said, hopping onto the floor. “Even you said it was annoying.”

“I know. Now, this space is perfectly revamped to be an ideal environment for whatever gremlins live in your head,” Shikadai gestured to the TV. “And look at the size of this screen. This apartment is perfect. Imagine coming home after missions, lying down on this incredibly comfortable couch, and just watching movies or playing games for as long as I want, because my mom isn’t going to nag me about how much time I spend in front of a screen.”

“Sounds nice,” Chocho grinned, leaning on the counter that separated the lounge from the kitchen.

Inojin brushed his fingers over the counter, and looked over his shoulder at Shikadai. “I want to hug you to say thanks, but I can’t right now.”

“Bank it,” Shikadai said casually, studying the TV remote. “And surprise me.”

“So when do we have an official party for the new place?” Chocho asked.

“When I’m not home,” Shikadai replied. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Seriously, no party needed. This place isn’t big enough for one, and I don’t really want all my friends wedged into this space.”

“Fine,” Chocho smiled broadly. “Just the three of us, then. I’ll bring food.”

“Good,” Shikadai smirked. “Then you can have as many parties as you want.”

“You know I’m not feeding you every meal,” Chocho pointed out. “You’re going to have to get your lazy butt to do some of the cooking.”

“You won’t let us starve,” Shikadai grinned.

“I won’t let _Inojin_ starve,” Chocho corrected. “I’ll feed him.”

Inojin smiled shyly at the counter. He liked when they chatted like this – because Chocho was witty and sharp and Shikadai’s voice was lovely to listen to. Sometimes he couldn’t focus enough to make out the words, and it was just noise in his ears, but the atmosphere always felt good.

It helped soothe the transition from living with his parents to living with Shikadai, which still felt strange and ungrounding at times.

“If that’s all you needed help with,” Chocho straightened up. “I should get going.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Shikadai nodded at her. “Thanks for your help.”

Chocho tapped her fingers on the counter near Inojin to get his attention, and he jerked his head up to stare at her shoulder.

“Which goodbye would you like?” Chocho asked briskly, and Inojin took a moment to think.

He extended his hand shyly, “Fingers.”

Chocho closed her fingers around his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Bye, Inojin.”

“Bye,” he murmured.

“Later, Shikadai,” she called, and he waved lazily from the couch.

Once she had left, Inojin wandered over to the armchair that sat perpendicular to Shikadai’s couch. He folded his legs underneath him, and leant on the arm of the chair.

Shikadai flicked through channels on the TV. “Wanna watch a movie tonight?”

Inojin shrugged. He didn’t really mind. Most of the time, he just listened, liking the background hum, while he did things like sketch and paint, or study one of his flower books.

Or watch Shikadai.

That was one of the best things about them moving in together. Inojin could watch him, without anyone telling him he had to focus on other things, or stop staring, and he could draw Shikadai all day if he wanted to, and Shikadai would never tell him to stop. And Shikadai could spend hours laying in place, watching TV or playing games, or napping, and so he was a beautifully stationary target.

Inojin laid his chin on his folded arms, eyes tracing the side of Shikadai’s face. Shikadai was quite a bit taller than him now, a little broader in the shoulders, and Inojin liked the way Shikadai’s skin darkened in the sun, while Inojin’s stayed the same pale as always.

He held out a hand, and Shikadai wordlessly reached for him, letting Inojin cup his fingers and run his thumb over the tanned skin of Shikadai’s hand. There was still an ink daisy painted on Shikadai’s wrist from training that morning, a system they had in place in case Inojin ever needed to call for help, but lacked the words to do so.

The happy feeling was bubbling up. Inojin had a puzzling reaction to spending alone time with Shikadai, one that felt like being happy, but spread a bit farther through his body, and burnt his cheeks, and sometimes made him shake.

“Sh-shikadai?”

“Hm?”

“The happy feeling is back again.”

“Okay.” Shikadai didn’t look at him, and Inojin was grateful for that. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stop touching you?”

“No. Just wanted you to know it was back.”

A slow smile curled Shikadai’s lips, and Inojin felt his heart speed up at the sight of it. “Cool.”

Inojin hid his face in his arm, feeling his cheeks burning and a stupid grin that he couldn’t control on his face. He muffled a squeak against his arm, overwhelmed. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but sometimes Inojin didn’t like it, and sometimes he needed to be alone to push the feeling away, or curl up into himself and ignore it.

Today, the feeling wasn’t too bad, and Shikadai being close by wasn’t making it worse. Inojin thought the feeling might have appeared because Shikadai had fixed everything in the apartment, just for him, and sometimes when Shikadai did things for Inojin, it made unexpected and unnamed emotions swirl through the blond’s body.

He kept his face hidden, occasionally squeezing Shikadai’s fingers, and Shikadai gently squeezed him back.

Life was feeling good.

Inojin liked the routine Shikadai had created. After missions in the evenings, they had supper together in front of the TV, and then Shikadai would play games for a while, and Inojin curled in the big armchair and drifted off in thought, or sketched, or read, or watched Shikadai.

When Shikadai had played for long enough, he prompted Inojin into getting ready for bed, and Inojin really liked that he didn’t have to think of things to do on his own. He knew Shikadai stayed up later, sitting at the small desk in his room and doing all manner of important things, and sometimes Inojin sat with his ear against the wall between their rooms and tried to listen for any movements he made.

It was quiet, and calm, and if Inojin wanted to talk, Shikadai would listen.

Now, his thoughts were stuck on training with his mother. They were working on some of the Yamanaka techniques, on the ones that didn’t make his skin crawl and his chest tighten. Lately, she had been coaxing him into mind reading, and he was enjoying it. People had bright, glittery thoughts, and he liked to look at them and then paint the shapes and colours.

He had never looked into Shikadai’s mind before. Chocho’s was purple, with amber swirls, and emotions that flowed like caramel, and he wondered what colours Shikadai thought in.

Inojin would paint it if he knew.

Inojin watched Shikadai carefully. Shikadai had not once taken his eyes off the screen in front of him, face expressionless as he fumbled joysticks around and pushed buttons, and Inojin wondered if everything was okay. Shikadai seemed to be thinking a lot lately, spending hours researching and brooding.

Inojin didn’t want to interrupt his game, so he kept silent, but he lifted one hand and formed the symbol for Shikadai’s name.

“Hm?” Shikadai still didn’t look at him. “Need something?”

Inojin bit his lower lip. “Can I read your mind?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Shikadai shrugged.

There always seemed to be so much going on in Shikadai’s head, and Inojin wondered what it looked like and what it felt like. Inojin shifted a bit more comfortably in his chair, and stared at the side of Shikadai’s face. It wasn’t hard to read minds, but it was easier when he was touching the person. He wanted to try without touching Shikadai.

He bit his lower lip again, trying to concentrate, and focused his thoughts the way Ino had taught him to.

He carefully reached his chakra out, trying to link to Shikadai. It was harder than it was with Chocho, and for a minute Inojin felt like nothing was happening. Finally, with a little ‘pop’ in the back of his head, Inojin felt the world drain into dark grey and forest green, but these thoughts didn’t move in syrupy waves like Chocho’s. Shikadai’s thoughts _bolted_ , in maddening, intense loops, nauseatingly fast and too distracting to follow.

Inojin felt like he was tugged underwater, and brighter sparks of colour flashed, fast and furious, until one red thought hit him behind the eyes like a flame, and he jerked his head back with a disconcerted whine, snapping his chakra back inside him, hands flying to his eyes to rub at them.

“Hey,” Shikadai frowned. “You okay?”

“There’s a burn,” Inojin said, blinking and trying to get his thoughts back on track.

“What?” Shikadai was confused. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Inojin shook his head. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “You have a thought that burns.”

Shikadai paused to think that over. “Okay . . .?”

“It’s red,” Inojin said.

“I don’t see thoughts like you do. You’re going to have to give me a bit more information than that.”

“It’s red and it burns,” Inojin said. “I don’t know how else to say it.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s on the left of your mind.”

Shikadai’s lips quirked upwards. “That’s not helpful.”

Inojin made an irritated, frustrated noise in his throat, then sat up straighter, trying to gather back enough composure to show Shikadai what he meant. Shikadai sat quietly, smiling fondly, and eventually Inojin was able to reach back into his mind, and push the thought purposefully forwards.

“There,” he said, before retracting his chakra. “That one.”

“That’s you.”

“Why does it burn?”

“Doesn’t burn me,” Shikadai gave him a sideways glance.

“It’s bright.”

“You are.”

Inojin repeated his irritated noise, and Shikadai laughed softly.

“Don’t be upset.” His smile widened. “You’re always on my mind, that’s all.”

“That’s . . .” Inojin hesitated. “That’s how you feel things for me? Bright and burning?”

“I guess so.”

Inojin fell into silent contemplation for a while. He spoke unprompted, “You feel cool and green in my head.”

“Yeah?”

“So we feel the opposite for each other.”

“Not the opposite,” Shikadai said. He reached a hand across the gap between their seats, and Inojin curled his fingers around Shikadai’s. “Complementary. Two halves that complete each other.”


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t uncommon for them to share a bed, although it had taken Shikadai longer to become comfortable with it. But Inojin liked warmth, and liked how Shikadai lay still most of the night, and rarely tossed or turned, and he liked to press his forehead into Shikadai’s back and fold himself into the curve of his spine, and try to sleep.

This morning, Inojin woke up feeling alone and cold, and he padded into Shikadai’s room, seeking comfort. This had been happening more and more – this need to be close, to have someone near him, and it worried him a bit. He felt like he needed to talk to his mother about it, in case it was a problem.

Shikadai grunted awake when Inojin settled next to him, and Inojin froze in place, always irrationally afraid that Shikadai would tell him to leave. But Shikadai relaxed again, asking in a sleepy voice, “Wanna be touched?”

Inojin nodded, before realizing Shikadai had yet to open his eyes and wouldn’t be able to see the movement. He swallowed hard, finding it suddenly difficult to talk. Instead of a word, he pushed forwards into Shikadai’s chest with a small whine.

“Push me away if you don’t like what I’m doing,” Shikadai reminded him drowsily, before draping an arm over Inojin’s side, hand flat on his back, and drawing him closer. Inojin snuggled up, his nose pressed against Shikadai’s chin, and he could feel Shikadai’s breath ghosting over his cheek.

After a few minutes, the words came back to him, and he mumbled, unsure if Shikadai could even make out what he was saying, “Want kisses.”

He tipped his chin down a bit, because they always started the same way – a kiss on his forehead, because he liked being touched there, and routines were important and calming. Kisses with Shikadai were different from the ones from Sai and Ino. These ones felt like _more_ , more intense and more intimate, and sometimes they were overwhelming with their power.

They made weird coils of heat in Inojin’s belly, and sometimes they made his skin prickle, and sometimes afterwards he needed space and time and silence, but he found Shikadai always willing to give him what he needed.

He made a small, satisfied noise in his throat at the feel of Shikadai’s lips against his forehead, squirming a little at the rush of sensation it caused. It prompted Shikadai to chuckle lightly.

“Still good?” he asked.

Inojin nodded, closing both hands in Shikadai’s shirt and holding on tight. Shikadai slept in a crinkled old t-shirt with several holes in it, but Inojin liked the way it felt and the way it always seemed to smell like him. He pulled at it slightly.

“I’m as close as I can get,” Shikadai murmured, pressing another gentle kiss a bit closer to Inojin’s hair.

“Can I . . .?” Inojin trailed off, twitching a bit.

“You can do whatever you want,” Shikadai assured.

Inojin closed his eyes, holding his breath as a moment of indecision passed over him. Then he raised one leg slightly, to rest his knee on Shikadai’s thigh, bringing them fractionally closer. Shikadai stayed very still, waiting to see if Inojin would pursue the action further. Inojin tipped his head up just enough to catch Shikadai’s lips with his own, and Shikadai could feel him smiling slightly.

Inojin pulled back, cheeks pink, and rolled away suddenly.

Shikadai let him go without question, and just watched him. He wanted to reach out and run his hand through Inojin’s silky blond hair, but held himself back. Inojin had distanced himself for a reason. And Shikadai would never, ever push him beyond what he was comfortable with.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Inojin nodded, biting on his lower lip. He brought his hands together, twisting his fingers. “Happy,” he whispered.

Shikadai smiled tenderly at him. “I’m happy too.”

Inojin sighed, looking up at the ceiling, fingers still working.

“Can we just stay in bed all day?” Shikadai scrubbed a hand through his hair. It always stood straight up in the mornings. “Just relax. Forget about responsibilities for a while.”

Inojin shrugged, unsure if Shikadai was serious or not. He waited for further explanation.

“We need to schedule an off day,” Shikadai said, throwing back the blankets and sitting up. “Go get dressed. Spending all day in bed will have to wait for another day.”

“Kiss first,” Inojin scrambled up onto his knees, and leant over to press his lips gently against Shikadai’s. When he pulled back, he caught a glimpse of the forest green of Shikadai’s eyes. He sat back on his heels. “Sometimes I wish you thought in the same colours your eyes were. Then I could paint it more often.”

“Well,” Shikadai smiled at him. “I don’t know how to change the colours I think in. If I did, I’d do it for you.”

He stood up, running a hand through his hair again, and taking lazy steps out his room towards the bathroom.

“Would you really?” Inojin asked, voice soft.

Shikadai’s voice carried back to him, “I’d change the world for you, Inojin.”

Inojin sat at the kitchen counter, paging through one of his sketchbooks, and mentally planning what flowers to draw next. Chocho had asked for waterlilies, to add to the collection of paintings that Inojin had done for her.

Shikadai downed a glass of water, before turning to face the fridge, and squint at the chart there.

The monthly chart on the fridge had been Ino’s suggestion, to keep Inojin focused and to take a bit of pressure off Shikadai. Each day was divided into three columns, for Inojin to tick off as the day went by – to make sure he had eaten three times, and taken his medication with breakfast and supper.

They would scrawl notes at the bottom, and Chocho often left little messages when she came by for Inojin to discover later. He liked to doodle on the chart, making little drawings for Shikadai. Shikadai added notes as needed for the next month, the only one currently in his handwriting stating ‘Order more meds,’ wedged between a sketch of a songbird and a little scribble from Chocho saying ‘Love you boys lots!’

“Hey,” Shikadai tapped the chart. “Don’t forget you’ve got a doctor’s appointment later this week.”

“Chocho said she would take me,” Inojin replied, tracing patterns on the countertop with his fingertips, his mind still on flowers. “But I can walk there by myself.”

“I know you can. I just feel better when someone’s with you.” Shikadai opened the fridge. “Any opinions on breakfast?”

Commonly, Shikadai didn’t bother with breakfast. It was too much of a drag to expend energy that early in the morning. But Inojin had to eat, and he felt better about it if Shikadai ate with him, too. It made him feel normal.

Inojin shrugged, but didn’t offer a suggestion.

“Well, we have training later,” Shikadai mused aloud. “So we should probably eat something with some sort of substance to it. I guess eggs are easy. Not much effort required.”

Inojin shrugged, happy to have the decision taken away from him. He was dressed and ready for whatever small mission they had with Moegi, and reached a hand up to his forehead protector to run his fingers over the smooth metal, and push against it so fabric pressed to his skin. He stayed like that, before asking softly, “Are you doing the mission with us today?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai busied himself preparing breakfast. “And I’ll be with you for training, too.”

“Okay.”

Shikadai had a lot of other responsibilities, and it was becoming more and more frequent for him to miss out on the easier missions, in favour of doing more important things. Inojin missed him. It felt like their genin days were so far behind them, and now Shikadai had other things to do and focus on, and it became rarer and rarer for him to be with Chocho and Inojin for basic missions.

So today was a special day, one Inojin had been waiting for, because it meant a whole day uninterrupted with Shikadai. It was exciting, and that excitement made it hard for Inojin to focus. He shifted on his seat.

Shikadai glanced at him, noticing his edginess. “You okay?”

“Excited.”

Shikadai snorted. “It’s not that rare for me to spend the whole day with you.”

“It feels like it’s been ages.” Inojin flipped to a sketch of a red rose, and spun the sketchbook to face Shikadai.

Shikadai glanced at the flower, and his expression softened. “I love you, too.”

Inojin stared at the counter, cheeks burning pink. “Can I paint roses on you today, for the mission?”

“Yeah.”

The Flower System, as Chocho had named it, had been Shikadai’s idea when they were starting out as genin. Inojin painted an ink flower on Shikadai’s wrists, which he could activate with his chakra at any time to get Shikadai’s attention.

Shikadai objected to the name, since Chocho usually got butterflies painted on her. The types of flowers that Inojin painted tended to vary, but usually matched his mood that morning.

“One day,” Inojin murmured, pulling the sketchbook towards himself, and continuing to page through it, “I want to hug you for ages. And not have to leave.”

“Okay,” Shikadai agreed.

“And I want to know what your skin feels like.”

“It sounds creepy when you say it like that, but sure, one day.” Shikadai carefully kept his eyes away from Inojin, not wanting to spook him into silence. It was important for them to talk their way through their feelings and desires, and Shikadai braced himself for an awkward, but necessary, talk.

They had, over months and many shy and stilted conversations, negotiated their way around the more physical aspect of their relationship. It had been a challenge at times, with Inojin unable to express himself and Shikadai baulking from intimate discussion, but a common ground had been reached, and things had been settled and relaxed for weeks.

Inojin liked a blanket separating them when they cuddled. It meant he had the warmth of Shikadai without the unnerving skin to skin contact, and it meant Shikadai didn’t have to worry about making a sudden wrong move that made Inojin uncomfortable.

When they went out for lunch or dinner, they sat side by side instead of opposite each other, the way they had always done as children.

And while touching was largely a no-go for Inojin, he liked the feeling of Shikadai’s shadows curling around him. It had all the pleasing benefits of physical touch, without the stresses and the skin-crawling uncomfortableness, and the lingering feeling.

“Normal people can do it,” Inojin continued, tracing a finger over one of his drawings. “Normal people can touch each other.”

“You are normal, Inojin. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Do you want to touch me?” Inojin raised his eyes for a brief second. “Like, more than we do?”

Shikadai was careful not to look at him. “Yes. But there’s no hurry for that. And we don’t need to. If you can’t manage it, then that’s fine.”

“We can go slow,” Inojin added. “Like we did with everything else. Like kisses. Didn’t know what to think of that at first. But I like it now.”

“So do I.”

“Kiss?” Inojin leaned over the counter.

Shikadai turned the stove down so the eggs didn’t burn, and turned to press his lips against Inojin’s, just their usual quick contact. He pulled away again.

“More,” Inojin said.

“Breakfast first,” Shikadai smiled. “Then I’ll do whatever you want.”

Inojin shrugged. Then, seemingly from nowhere, he said, “I’m going to paint you an orange rose.”

Shikadai sighed. “I’m going to have to look it up, aren’t I? Why can’t you give me flowers I know the meanings of?”

Inojin bit his lower lip. “Don’t look it up.”

“That just makes me more curious.”

Inojin squirmed in his seat again. “You can only look it up when we get home tonight.”

“Deal,” Shikadai said. “Now, settle down and eat something. We have more important things to think about than flowers.”


	3. Chapter 3

Inojin’s future still worried Ino.

He had settled into his career as a shinobi, consistently performing well in the easy, D- and C-rank missions that Moegi oversaw. Moegi was a careful and considerate teacher, and had learned Inojin’s limits fast.

She and Shikadai still clashed regularly, and there had been countless days where Chocho and Inojin came home alone, because Moegi and Shikadai were embroiled in another strongly worded debate. But Inojin was handling life as a shinobi – he kept up with training, he was quick with Sai’s jutsu, and he communicated flawlessly with his team via hand signs and secret symbols painted on their arms.

And that was what worried Ino. Because her son, while capable and quick with Shikadai and Chocho, failed to listen to verbal commands on the battlefield. It meant that he was hopeless if separated from his team, and it meant that he couldn’t think and react fast enough if he needed to listen to commands from out of sight teammates. That was her worry – that he would never be able to function without Shikadai and Chocho and their unique brand of communication.

And while most of his missions were with his team – they were the Ino-Shika-Cho trio, after all – Ino constantly agonized over his future. Shikadai had been ahead of his team since day one, and moved relentlessly from achievement to achievement. There would, undoubtedly, come a day when Shikadai was pulled away from them to pursue higher goals. Ino was surprised Temari had allowed Shikadai to stay with his friends for as long as she had.

Part of that, she felt, had been because of Shikadai and Inojin starting a relationship. And the memory of that still made Ino smile.

The day Shikadai had edged to her, shortly after Inojin turned fifteen, cheeks blushing bright red, and mumbled under his breath that, if it was okay, he and Inojin had been talking and they wanted to try being more than friends, had been an unsurprising, but heartwarming, one.

Early into their friendship, Ino had seen something budding between them, something deeper than the casual ‘best friends’ label Shikadai had assigned them. It had been a relief, honestly, to have Shikadai step up and upgrade their friendship, because he knew Inojin inside and out, and was gentle and careful with him, and Ino couldn’t have been happier.

She had agreed, with the understanding that Shikadai talked to her if anything came up. Shikadai had solemnly promised to keep her in the loop about Inojin, even if the conversation made him nervous, and Ino had happily left them to their own devices ever since.

It was a joy to watch them walking hand in hand everywhere they went, it was adorable seeing them sitting side by side, and she loved how Inojin leant into Shikadai and listened when he spoke, and she loved the way Inojin pressed signals into Shikadai’s back and sought out flowers for him.

When Shikadai had proposed them moving in together – a step towards independence, a new way for Inojin to learn to adjust to the outside world – she had been reluctant but interested. But so far things had gone flawlessly, and Inojin had adapted to the change easily.

Ino still worried, and sent frequent messages to both boys, but they had made the transition peacefully. She had yet to receive a problem from either of them.

“You’re doing it again,” Sai said mildly, pulling Ino from her thoughts.

She snapped her head towards him, surprised to see him still sitting next to her at the kitchen table, and not gone to work already. “What?”

“Thinking about the boys too hard,” Sai stated, as though it were obvious. “They’re happy, and they’re fine.”

“I know,” she assured him. “And I’m happy, too. I’m just worried about Inojin.”

“You’ve been worried about Inojin since he was born. Maybe you should take a break.”

She offered Sai a wan smile. “I know, I know. I try not to worry. He’s doing so well, and Shikadai’s amazing with him, but, well,” she shrugged. “He’s my son. Worrying about him is my job.”

“Shikadai will let us know if there’s a problem,” Sai pointed out. “He has been very reliable in the past.”

Ino would concede to that. Shikadai had been amazing ever since he’d declared Inojin his best friend, when they were roughly six years old. It had been interesting to watch that relationship develop – because Shikadai was snappy and sharp around other people, low on patience, and intolerant, and oozing snark and attitude, but around Inojin he was gentle and slow.

“Shikadai’s a good kid,” Ino mused. He was Inojin’s safety net, and source of guidance. “And he’s crazy about Inojin.”

“They do seem to be getting along well,” Sai allowed. “Inojin was lying on Shikadai the other day, drawing. I didn’t know he was open to that sort of contact from him.”

Ino smiled. “Really? I thought he only liked lying on Chocho. He says her skin feels safe.”

“He was on Shikadai,” Sai shrugged. “Shikadai was lying against a wall, and Inojin was right against him. I think Shikadai might have been asleep.”

“They’re cute together,” Ino said. “I’ll check in with Inojin when he’s at the shop later. Will you be home in time to talk to him?”

“I don’t think so,” Sai replied. “But there’s nothing urgent I need to speak to him about. We have training together on Sunday, so I’ll talk to him then.”

It was heartwarming, hearing about Inojin’s growing comfort in Shikadai’s arms. Ino had been worried for years that Inojin would never be able to enjoy affection from anyone other than her and Sai. But as he grew, he began eagerly seeking embraces from Chocho, and everything else from Shikadai.

“I think you can worry about him a little less,” Sai remarked.

“I know I can.” She sighed fondly. “But I’m still his mother, and I’m still going to worry about him.”

It was a relief though, to see so many of her worries resolving themselves.

Inojin was doing far better than she had hoped.

There were two days a week that Inojin helped in the flower shop after training, although he often spent more time there than was required. One of these days ended up being a rainy, grey afternoon, and the shop was quiet.

“Mom,” Inojin began, carefully turning pots and buckets in deliberate, measured movements to focus himself. “I have a feeling I don’t know what to do with.”

“Alright,” Ino made a point to move away from him, putting the counter between them, tucking some hair behind her ear, and watching the window. The more space he had, the less she watched him, the easier the words came from him.

Inojin hesitated. “It’s . . . it’s with Shikadai.”

“Is it all the time, or only occasionally?”

“It’s . . .” Inojin whined low in his throat. “Night.”

Ino waited patiently for him to continue.

“At night. I feel it at night. When I’m on my own, and I feel like I want to be close to him all the time. It’s uncomfortable.”

Was Inojin lonely? Ino frowned. That didn’t seem right. “What does it feel like?”

“Like a bit sore in my chest, and a bit hard in my tummy. But low down. And it gets better when I’m lying with Shikadai. But it wakes me sometimes.”

Ino’s first thought was that Inojin’s growing independence was making him nervous, and anxiousness was what was waking him. Shikadai had always been Inojin’s source of steady comfort – a steadfast, laidback, relaxed presence. “Is the feeling upsetting you?”

“Sometimes it feels like too much and I want it to stop,” Inojin said blandly, and Ino felt her heart sink a bit. He only lost inflection in his voice when he wanted to block out feelings, and she never wanted him to do that. They had worked hard to get him to _wanting_ to feel.

“Have you been able to make it stop on your own?” Her mind jumped to the next possibility – growing physical attraction to Shikadai, and the lack of knowledge of how to pursue it. She pursed her lips. There was going to be an awkward conversation between her and Shikadai in the future, no doubt.

“I ignore it until it goes away. But sometimes it won’t go away.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I hide in my blankets.”

At least that was a safe reaction. Ino was concerned he might be reacting in more dramatic ways.

His emotional breakdown tantrums, for lack of a better term, had all but gone since he began genin missions. Before that, the fluctuating hormones, and confusion over his emotions, and the realization he was different had all contributed to sudden uncontrollable bursts of rage, which Ino could usually calm.

It worried her a bit that they would return, because while he was exceptionally happy with Shikadai, it was no secret that both boys had rapidly growing feelings for each other. Shikadai was becoming suddenly overprotective and always patient, and sometimes it shocked Ino to see how gentle he could be. Shikadai was outspoken and sharp tongued with his friends, but when Inojin was around, the Nara heir seemed filled with endless self-control.

But while Shikadai had flawless self-control, Inojin did not. Shikadai could brush feelings aside, and puzzle through them alone, and analyze them to death, but Inojin often hit brick walls when it came to interpreting what was happening within his own head.

“Would you like help with it?” Ino asked.

“I want to know what it is, and how to make it slow down.” Inojin gently fingered the petals of some flowers. “I don’t want it to go away completely – it feels good sometimes – but I want to control it better.”

Okay. Okay, she could work with that. “I want you to pay attention to this feeling for a while, and make notes of exactly when it happens and what it feels like. Then we can see if there’s any pattern to it, and we can figure out how to help you with it, okay?”

“Okay,” Inojin said agreeably, and Ino relaxed. He was open to the idea. “Must I put it on the chart?”

“Yes.” Everything on the chart was ‘official’, and Inojin would listen to whatever was there. “And we can check back in next week.”

“Okay,” he leant down to breathe in the scent of the flowers.

“Anything else you need to talk about?” Ino asked, daring to come closer.

“No. Just that. Everything else is fine.”

“Ah, good.” Now she needed to focus him on something else. Luckily, flowers had always been an easy distraction. “Can you help me with these arrangements? There are a few that need to get finished today.”

Willingly, Inojin left the flowers he had been playing with, and Ino led him into the back of the shop to gather supplies. They worked in silence, since Inojin had finished with his talking for the afternoon, but Ino found it didn’t bother her as much as it used to.

And if she watched him carefully, his hands would twitch into signs and symbols as he worked, and he liked to mumble about the flowers under his breath. Moments like these were precious to her, and she deliberately dragged out what they were doing, eking out extra time with him.

She missed having him at home, but she couldn’t ask him to move back when he was clearly so content with Shikadai. It just meant that these afternoons were valued and special.

Before he left that evening, Inojin slid a daisy to her, and Ino tucked it behind her ear, and slid a pink carnation to him in reply.

The rain was drumming steadily against the window, and the room was starting to grow dark, but Shikadai didn’t feel like getting up to the turn the lights on. Especially since moving would dislodge Inojin, and the blond had been tucked against him in silence for the better part of half an hour, and Shikadai didn’t like to break away first when they cuddled. So he stayed where he was, half his mind on the rain and half on the warmth of Inojin pressed against him.

“What are the numbers this week?” Inojin asked, buried under Shikadai’s arm.

Shikadai lay on the couch, one arm over Inojin’s head, head turned to see the TV. He had a mission report in his other hand and was skimming it through, checking for any corrections or details needed. Absently, he murmured, “Five and three.”

Since Inojin’s reception to physical contact was sporadic, he had asked Shikadai to keep track each week of the kisses and hugs ‘owed’ so when he was feeling snuggly and confident, they could catch up on the times he shied away. Shikadai had been happy to brush it off, but Inojin liked the idea of ticking things off a mental list.

“Five kisses?” he queried.

“Two good mornings, one well done after training, one because I felt like it, and one from the last painting you did.”

“Only three hugs?”

Shikadai tapped his fingers vaguely against Inojin’s ribs. “You wanted one last night but couldn’t tolerate it. One is Chocho’s, but she put it onto my list, and the last one is because I had to leave early from training and cancel our plans for afterwards.”

Inojin didn’t know how Shikadai kept track so easily, but he hummed in contemplation. “Do you want kisses now?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” Shikadai replied, flicking to the next page in his report.

Inojin squirmed his way out from under Shikadai, wedged onto his stomach, propped on his elbows, and regarded his partner carefully. He spent more time than he would admit to just staring at Shikadai and learning every curve of him. He shifted again to flop over Shikadai’s chest and press his face into his neck.

Shikadai’s fingers found the neatly tied tuft of hair at the base of Inojin’s neck, and twisted through it. “Do you want my full attention?”

“Keep reading,” Inojin murmured, and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to Shikadai’s neck. He had to stop to catalogue the tremors running down his neck from Shikadai’s fingers. It felt good but slightly unsettling at the same time, and he was caught between wanting to push into the contact and ask Shikadai to stop. Uncertain, he just paused, waiting and thinking.

Shikadai sensed his hesitance, and laid his hand on Inojin’s back instead, with the comfortable barrier of a shirt between them. Inojin felt a strange mix of relieved and disappointed, and he made a mental note to ask if they could do that more. He loved Shikadai playing with his hair, but wasn’t entirely sure about his fingers touching the back of his neck so frequently.

With the thought stored away for later, he kissed Shikadai’s neck again, hesitantly. He heard Shikadai turn a page in his report again, and could feel the steady _thump, thump, thump_ of Shikadai’s pulse under his lips.

“Inojin?” Shikadai said quietly.

“Hm?” He didn’t lift his head, content with where he was.

“You okay?”

“Hm.”

Shikadai’s fingers trailed lightly up his back. “Just checking.”

He shifted a bit, adjusting the report in his hand, but he had stopped reading, waiting to see what Inojin would do next.

The rain splattered loudly against the window, driven by a gust of wind, and Inojin lifted his head to stare at the glass, attention drawn by the water running in erratic rivulets. Shikadai didn’t try to redirect him, but left him to marvel at the patterns.

He turned to the last page in his report, spare hand running once through Inojin’s hair. Softly, he pressed his hand into Inojin’s back, once, twice, in two symbols.

_Love you._

Inojin settled down against him once more, but stayed silent. After a few minutes, he murmured, “Does it bother you when I don’t say it back?”

“Say what?” Shikadai asked, tossing the report aside. He stretched his arm out towards the TV remote, and found it frustratingly out of reach. With a sigh, and a mumble under his breath, he tucked his hand behind his head.

“Don’t always say I love you back.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Shikadai traced light circles on Inojin’s back. “Not at all. That’s just how I say it to you, but I know you feel the same way and you say it me in your own ways.”

“Like what?” Inojin asked curiously. He could feel Shikadai’s eyes on him, and his cheeks burned. He tucked his head more firmly against Shikadai’s shoulder.

Shikadai answered carefully, slowly, “You know, when you . . . you make paintings for me, and bring me flowers, and you watch me when I’m gaming-“

Inojin squeaked, and Shikadai chuckled lightly.

“Yeah, I can see you when you’re doing that,” he said. “You’re not as subtle as you think. But I like it,” he pulled his fingers through the ends of Inojin’s hair. “I like you watching me.”

That happy, burning feeling was bubbling up in Inojin’s chest again, and he squirmed, trying to find a position that didn’t make it feel worse. Shikadai stayed quiet as he shuffled around, but he felt the need to ask, after Inojin let out a frustrated growl, “Are you okay?”

“Too much feeling.”

Shikadai eased away from him, getting up off the couch. “Need some space?”

“Yeah,” Inojin sat up. “Don’t wanna touch anymore.”

“That’s okay.” Shikadai took another step back, leaving Inojin to figure out what he wanted.

After a moment of indecision, Inojin stood up and shuffled over to his chair, and plopped down in a disgruntled heap. Shikadai came slowly towards him, and carefully reached for one of the blankets piled around him, shook it out, and draped it over him.

“Better?” he asked, and Inojin nodded. “Need another blanket?”

Inojin shook his head in answer, but huddled down a bit more, curling himself into a ball.

Shikadai sat on the couch again, eyes on the TV, although he could see Inojin in his peripheral vision. Inojin was seemingly settling down, rubbing his blanket between his fingers, and staring blankly at it. Shikadai stayed silent, leaving Inojin to calm himself down.

The blanket helped, and before long Inojin had a corner of it folded between the arm of the chair and his cheek, and was gently rubbing his face against it.

Ino had discovered a thick, soft fleece blanket that Inojin absolutely loved the feel of, and had cocooned himself within it the moment she had given it to him. He liked how it felt on his skin, he liked to rub his cheek against it, he liked how it folded between his fingers when he clenched his hands, and he liked the warmth it provided.

Ino had then dragged him to the store she had bought it from, made him touch every colour to see if they all had the same affect (He had a preference for purples and lilacs, stating that other colours ‘felt wrong’. Ino couldn’t feel a difference, but she didn’t question him.) They had returned home with four more blankets, including an emerald green one, and Inojin had since moved the lot of them onto the big armchair in their apartment where he liked to curl up in the evenings.

Shikadai often returned home to find Inojin swaddled in a mix of purple, green, lilac and white, with the grey blanket as a pillow. And he had found that surrounding Inojin within them when he was feeling uncertain or overwhelmed was a quick and easy way to calm him down.

“Shikadai?”

“Yeah?”

“If I’m feeling better later, can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Shikadai shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you like it when I do?”

“I always like it when we’re together,” Shikadai assured. “It just makes me nervous sometimes, because I worry I’ll do something wrong and make you uncomfortable.”

“You never move when you’re asleep.”

“Ah,” Shikadai grinned, flicking his eyes to the side to check on Inojin. “That’s alright then.”

“I’m bringing a blanket with me.”

“Cool.” Shikadai nodded. “Whatever you need.”

Those words calmed Inojin a bit more. _Whatever you need . . ._ It was comforting. It was a relief to hear.

Even though he was different, and sometimes difficult, he never had to worry about those things around Shikadai. With Shikadai, everything was easier, and calmer. There was no pressure, no fear.

“Thank you,” he whispered, sinking lower into his blanket. He hoped Shikadai understood what he meant. It wasn’t just ‘thank you’ for letting him snuggle under blankets and cuddle up on his terms only. It was for everything, from giving him space when needed, to comfort when needed, to not staring at him, to re-wiring the fridge and the hundreds of other little things Shikadai did to make life easier.

Shikadai’s smile broadened, and when he replied it sounded so sincere and encompassing that Inojin felt like Shikadai knew exactly what he had meant, “No problem.”


	4. Chapter 4

Inojin was already curled up in his chair when Shikadai got home, buried beneath a swath of blankets.

“Everything okay?” Shikadai asked, voice tinged with concern. “I can barely see you under all that.”

Shikadai could see one baby blue eye peeping out with a curl of blond hair to the side, but Inojin didn’t reply.

With a sigh, Shikadai sat on the couch, on the side closest to Inojin. “Come on, what’s wrong?”

When no answer came, Shikadai shrugged. “Okay, I’ll wait. Let me know when you want to talk.”

He reached for the remote, settling back into the couch and flicking absently through the TV channels. After a while, Inojin shifted and said quietly, “Went to the hospital today.”

“Oh, that’s right. You had a checkup. How was it?” Shikadai kept his eyes on the TV.

Inojin sunk lower into his blanket cocoon.

Shikadai finally selected a channel, set the remote down on the coffee table, and relaxed. Inojin would talk when he was ready and had figured out what he wanted to say. Things would move faster if Shikadai didn’t push him for an answer.

After a few minutes, Inojin peeled himself out of the pile of blankets and stood up. He wrapped the dark purple one around his shoulders and shuffled over to the couch, climbing on and curling up into Shikadai’s side, head on his chest.

Shikadai absently carded his fingers through Inojin’s bangs.

“Doctor said she had a new medication I should try.”

“Okay.” Shikadai nodded. “What’s that replacing?”

“Not replacing. A new one. Another one.”

 _Ah_ , Shikadai could see the problem now. Inojin hated being on medication at the best of times, feeling like he was brutally different from his teammates. He didn’t like the constant reminder that he was different, he wasn’t like his friends, he was the odd one out all the time.

“What’s it for?” Shikadai asked.

“It’s a nerve blocker, because I still get sick sometimes from eating certain foods. She says I need more variety. If I’m gonna still do missions and be active. Also she says it might help me sleep better.”

“I see,” Shikadai kept stroking through Inojin’s hair. “Is there a reason you don’t want to try it? Besides the usual?”

Inojin squirmed a bit, uncomfortable at having to admit to his reluctance. “Lot of side effects.”

“But possibly good results. And your mom has been going on and on about you eating more for years.”

“I know. But I eat enough.”

“Adding this med might give you more energy.” Shikadai scratched his nails lightly over Inojin’s scalp, and Inojin melted against him.

“You think I should try it?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai said, pressing his palm flat across Inojin’s forehead. It was a sneaky tactic to keep Inojin still, and it relaxed him and made him pliable and willing to listen. “If you don’t like it, you can always stop taking it. But seeing if it helps is a good idea.”

“Side effects.”

“They might not happen.”

“Hm,” Inojin reached both hands up, and pressed his fingers to the back of Shikadai’s hand, pressing it harder against his head. “Maybe.”

“Talk to your mom. She’ll know more. But think about it.”

They fell into silence then, until, uncharacteristically, Inojin broke it. “Shikadai?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wish you had someone better than me?”

“What?” Shikadai tensed in place. “Who said that to you?”

“No one did. I just thought.”

“Inojin,” Shikadai sighed. “No, I’ve never thought that. Not even once. I _chose_ you, I want to be with you.”

“But I’m different.”

“You’re special. You’re perfect.” He pressed his hand more firmly to Inojin’s skin. “I’ve loved you for a long time. I chose you long ago, to protect and be with. There’s no one else I’d rather have.”

“Really?” Inojin squeezed his eyes closed.

“Read my mind,” Shikadai said. “Let me show you.”

Inojin hesitated, but then relaxed in Shikadai’s hold. Tentatively, he gathered his chakra, carefully pushed it towards Shikadai, peered cautiously into his mind.

Shikadai’s mind always moved too fast, had too much going on, and it was overwhelming at times. Inojin almost snapped away from the swirls of colours that rushed and bolted around, but Shikadai was holding him in his arms, hand still pressed to his forehead, and Inojin pushed forwards.

The red, burning thought was right in front of him, glittery and afire. Inojin reached for it, touched the very tip of it, and jerked in Shikadai’s arms, his fingertips burning. He tried again, this time pushing hard into Shikadai’s chest.

“Am I hurting you?” Shikadai asked softly.

Inojin shook his head. He didn’t want to admit that it still burned when he tried to get hold of what Shikadai thought of him. He wanted to see it properly, to feel it, to experience it. He reached his chakra out again, determined. This time, when he grabbed the thought, it flashed right into him, and all he could see was himself, slightly hazy, out of focus, but it was definitely him, sitting with his sketchpad on his knees, leaning against a wall outside the Hokage building.

The thought flooded him with a sudden sense of calm, but he could feel his heart starting to race.

He tipped his head up to look at Shikadai. “What’s that memory?”

“Ah,” Shikadai laughed nervously. “Moment I realized I loved you. Differently to the way I thought I loved you.”

“We were young, then,” Inojin observed, tucking the memory away with his own thoughts.

“Yeah. Um. Yeah,” Shikadai laughed again, the sound tinged with embarrassment. “Didn’t want to bother you with it, though . . .”

“It’s been a long time, then?”

“Long time,” Shikadai agreed, voice still coloured with awkwardness. “But I just wanted you to know that you’ve always been special to me.”

“Hm,” Inojin fell into a thoughtful silence. After a pause, he said, “Thanks.”

“For?”

“Loving me.”

“Ah,” Shikadai stroked Inojin’s bangs back. “That’s always been easy.”

“How was your last doctor visit?” Ino asked, sliding a small pot of petunia flowers in front of Inojin, so he would focus on that and not on her. She stood behind him, pulling the tie out of his hair and running her fingers through his silky blond locks.

Inojin reached for the plant, delicately feeling the petals. “She didn’t tell you?”

“You’re not a baby anymore, Inojin. I’m not checking up on you. If there’s something you don’t want me to know, then you’re entitled to your privacy, as long as it’s not something that will harm you.”

Inojin heaved a sigh. “S’nothing you can’t hear . . . she said I should try a new medication.”

“Are you going to?”

“Dunno. Haven’t decided. Shikadai says I should, in case it helps.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t want to.”

That answer didn’t surprise Ino. Inojin had always hated feeling different, and daily medication was just another reminder of that. Ino waited to see if he would add more.

Inojin continued fidgeting with the plant, but seemed to think he had said all he needed to on the subject. Ino made a mental note to ask Shikadai about it later in the week. She twisted his hair into a small braid, and then undid it again, and gently worked out any tangles with her fingers.

“How have you been feeling around Shikadai lately?” Ino asked, wondering if Inojin had made any progress in identifying his feelings.

Inojin shrugged dismissively. “Good and bad.”

“Any patterns to it?”

He shook his head.

“Anything else you want to say about it?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Inojin said. “I tell Shikadai about it.”

If there was a pattern to it, Shikadai would have seen it. There were perks to having a genius around her son. Ino smiled at the thought. Shikadai was quick and observant, and had mastered the art of watching Inojin without letting Inojin know he was doing it.

“How is the new apartment?” Ino asked, keen to keep Inojin talking.

“Shikadai fixed everything for me,” Inojin said. “So everything feels nice.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “The shower can be tricky, but I’m figuring it out.”

“And Chocho’s still spoiling you with meals all the time?”

“Yeah.”

Inojin’s independence had been weighing on Ino since he was born. Seeing him now, out with Shikadai, functioning alone, was heartwarming and a huge relief. She no longer panicked over the thought of something happening to her and Sai. Inojin was doing fine, branching out, experiencing the world. All she needed now was to know that he was happy, and Shikadai seemed to be helping with that, too.

Her fears seemed to be slowly resolving, one by one. Ino leaned down to press a kiss to Inojin’s head. “Love you, sunshine boy.”

He hummed under his breath, but Ino could hear the little smile behind it.

“Is Shikadai picking you up later?” Ino asked, fingers still running through Inojin’s hair.

“No. I’m going home on my own.”

She smoothed his bangs back, and he leant into her, as always soothed by the motion. “Want to stay for dinner? Your dad will be home soon. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Inojin tipped his head back to grin at her. “Yeah.”

“I can send Shikadai a message and let him know you’ll be late.”

“Okay.”

She loved these moments, when he was carefree and happy and ready to agree to things that broke his routine. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him lightly. He made a questioning noise, but didn’t try to pull away.

She had a lot more to ask him, so many more questions and things to catch up on, but she didn’t ask him anything more. She didn’t want him to run out of words and confidence before Sai came home.

Inojin never minded silence, and so Ino just stayed where she was, arms around him, breathing into his hair, as he hummed a bit and turned the plant around and made a careful study of it.

Ino knew she would have a painting of it by the next time he visited.

Shikadai stood still, chest heaving with every breath, and wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead.

The forest was still and calm around him, the only sound a few distant, chirping birds.

“Giving up already?”

He grinned. “Gee, Mom, I don’t know how long you think I can last against you . . .”

“You’re lazy. That’s all.” Temari approached him, fan folded harmlessly and propped over her shoulder.

Shikadai let out a breath. “We can train more when I’ve caught my breath.”

“When you’ve finished being lazy, you mean,” Temari corrected. She jammed the fan into the ground, and Shikadai flopped down to use it as a backrest. Temari sat down next to him.

“How’re things with Inojin?” Temari asked.

Shikadai leant against the fan, closing his eyes. “Pretty good.”

“Still happy living with him?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai smirked a little. “Nags less than you.”

Temari reached a hand towards him, giving him an affectionate, light punch on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t nag if you listened better.”

Shikadai cracked an eye open. “How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine. Nothing’s different around here.”

“When are you going to Suna next?”

“In a few weeks. Why?”

“Can I come with? I’ve got some things I need to ask Uncle Kankuro about the Wind Daimyo.”

“Yeah, you can tag along.” Temari eyed him. “Anything I should know about?”

“Just trying to make a difference,” Shikadai muttered, wiping his hand over his face again, and grimacing at the sweat there. “Uh, when is Dad coming home today? Because I won’t be around next weekend – Sarada’s learning all the signals for talking to Inojin and I said I’d help her study.”

“He should be home at the normal time. You can stay for dinner.” Temari plucked a stray leaf from Shikadai’s hair. “Sarada’s learning to talk to Inojin?”

“Yeah,” Shikadai nodded. “She wanted to learn. And since I’m taking fewer missions with my team – got a lot of other things going on – I’m hoping she’ll be able to supervise a few missions. Anyway, Inojin needs to learn to pay attention to other people. I can’t have him too dependent on me and Chocho.”

He automatically scanned the forest around him. It was peaceful and green. “And I need to know he’ll be safe with other people. Gotta protect him.”

“You’ve been doing that since you two could walk.”

Shikadai smiled thinly. “Yeah, well . . . Guess I always knew that he’d need me.”

Temari watched him curiously, studying his expression. She shook her head. “Sappy. Come on, get up. We’ve got more work to do.”

“No, we don’t,” Shikadai sighed, slumping against the fan. “We’ve got time for a nap.”

“Up,” Temari rose to her feet, yanking the fan up with one swift movement.

Shikadai fell onto his back, not bothering to catch himself. He stared at the leaves overhead.

“I’m giving you five seconds, then attacking,” Temari said casually, walking away to gain some distance.

“You’re a drag,” Shikadai muttered. He felt the wind start to pick up, and heaved a sigh. He waited until the last second before leaping up, dodging the sudden vortex of wind tearing through where he had been lying. He made for the trees, mind churning through possible strategies to win the match.

“You know I have the advantage, right?” he yelled, back to a thick tree trunk, eyes flicking up the sun. “It’s late afternoon. Shadows are getting longer.”

“If you have such an advantage,” Temari could be heard. “Then prove it.”

He slumped a bit. “Can’t I just give up?”

“Aren’t you meant to be changing the world for Inojin? Giving up isn’t going to get you any further.”

“This match isn’t going to change anything for him,” Shikadai replied, making a quick dash for another hiding spot. He paused, trying to figure out where she was. He couldn’t feel any rushing wind.

“You don’t know that.”

He glanced to his left. Her voice had definitely come from there. Right within range of his shadow. He put his hands together. “Pretty sure throwing a fight never changed anyone’s life plans.”

He startled at the sudden feel of cool metal against his neck. With a resigned look to his right, he met Temari’s smirk.

“You’d be surprised,” she replied.


	5. Chapter 5

Shikadai had left training early, needed elsewhere, and that had left Inojin and Chocho to sit together on the grass once Moegi had left, with Inojin admiring the wildflowers and Chocho eating chips.

“You look tired,” Chocho observed. “Are you sleeping enough?”

Inojin shrugged one shoulder.

“Inojin. You gotta talk to me.”

“Shikadai’s been weird.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Not himself.” Inojin shifted a bit, not looking away from the flowers. “Not ignoring me, just . . . busy a lot. Always working.”

“Shikadai does a lot for us,” Chocho allowed. “And he does things outside of this team, as well.”

“Seems like more.”

“Are you upset that he’s been busy?”

Inojin shook his head. He fidgeted his fingers in the grass, shifting again.

Chocho recognized his discomfort, and moved closer to him. “Are you worried about him?”

That gained a nod, and Chocho held out a hand in their symbol for ‘touch’, which Inojin nodded to. She laid her hand on his knee. “Because he’s working too much? And you’re worried he’s overdoing it?”

Shikadai had a history of taking on too much, in his stubborn way to relieve pressure off Inojin and take control of all that he could, and in the past it had made him short tempered and snappy, and Inojin hated when Shikadai acted that way.

“Has he been angry at you?” Chocho asked, and Inojin shook his head in reply. That made Chocho relax a bit. So Shikadai wasn’t overworking just yet. “Do you know what he’s working on?”

“Haven’t asked.”

“Maybe you should. He can talk about it if he wants to. And that might help him relax.”

That made sense. Everyone always made Inojin talk about what he was feeling and thinking. Ino said getting the thoughts and feelings out into the open would make them feel better, and it usually worked. He resolved to make Shikadai talk later, to see how things were, and what Shikadai was thinking about.

That evening, Inojin folded his arms on the side of his chair and rested his chin on them, watching Shikadai as the other boy sat on the couch and frowned at several letters, making various notes on them and muttering under his breath.

Inojin signed at him, ‘What are you doing?’ and received nothing more than a dismissive ‘Busy.’

He frowned, slightly irritated at the lack of an answer. That seemed like all Shikadai did these days. Just worked, and worked. His frown deepened when Shikadai made an annoyed growl, and made several long strokes across the paper.

“What’s wrong?” Inojin asked, lifting his head curiously.

Shikadai made another annoyed noise, but shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it.”

Inojin sat up a bit straighter. He studied Shikadai for a few minutes. “. . . Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s okay,” Shikadai said dismissively. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Inojin huffed. “How come you always do that?”

“Do what?” Shikadai didn’t look up from the papers.

“Don’t talk to me about your problems.”

“Because I can handle them. No need for you to worry as well.”

“But I have to talk to you about what I’m feeling. Why can’t you do the same to me?”

Finally, Shikadai looked up. “Inojin, you’ve got enough to worry about without me adding to it.”

“But that’s not how relationships work. We’re meant to help each other. You help me, all the time. I want to help you, too.”

Shikadai shrugged. “It’s nothing you can change, so why would I worry you with it?”

With an impatient huff, Inojin got out of his chair and stalked to Shikadai. He plopped himself down purposefully on Shikadai’s lap, leaning back into his chest. Shikadai held his papers to one side, a slight chuckle escaping him, “Alright, what’s this about?”

“I want you to pay attention to me.”

“Okay.” Shikadai tossed the folder onto the coffee table. He leant into the couch, entwining both his hands with Inojin’s. “You’ve got my full attention. What’s up?”

“I . . .” Inojin hesitated. “Do you do this to me often?”

“Do what?”

“Not tell me how you’re feeling . . . because you don’t think I can handle it?”

Shikadai stiffened slightly. He let out a breath. “Look, Inojin, you’ve already got a lot of challenges to deal with every day, and-“

“That’s not an answer.”

Shikadai squeezed his fingers lightly. “Yes. I do.”

With a dissatisfied whine, Inojin pressed harder against Shikadai’s chest. “But I want to help you like you help me. We’re meant to talk – everyone makes me talk – so you should talk to me, too.”

Shikadai said nothing.

“You and Mom always do this to me,” Inojin muttered. “You try to protect me from everything, and it feels like you don’t believe in me. It’s not fair that only you worry about everything all alone.”

“We’re just trying to protect you,” Shikadai murmured.

“But I don’t _only_ need protecting! I can do things, you know. I can help.”

“. . . Does it upset you, that I don’t like to talk about my problems with you?”

“Yes.” Inojin stared at their hands. “Makes me worry more, because I know something’s wrong but you won’t tell me what it is.”

“How do you want me to fix that?” Shikadai took a chance, pressing his lips to the side of Inojin’s neck.

Inojin stayed in place. “. . . When we . . . when I have to tell you how I’m feeling every day, you have to do the same.”

“Okay. We can try that.” He closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe in Inojin’s scent.

Inojin sagged against him. “. . . Thanks . . .”

He stayed where he was for a while, before murmuring, “I can feel your heartbeat.”

“Good. Means I’m not dead, yet.”

“Shadows,” he requested, letting his eyes slide closed.

Shikadai pulled one hand free to form a seal, and Inojin felt the gentle slide of twining shadows around his wrists, and snaking over his stomach, and he let out a contented sigh at the sensation. The shadows pulled just tight enough to be firm, to be supportive, but not suffocating. Inojin liked the feel of it. And he liked being pulled against Shikadai, and feeling his chest expand with each inhalation.

They sat like that for a while, in silence, until Shikadai pulled his shadows back and gently nudged Inojin off his lap. “We need to eat.”

Inojin sighed, but dragged himself up, and resettled onto his chair, piling blankets around him. “Do we?”

“You know we do,” Shikadai stood up.

“Remember to add talking about feelings to the chart,” Inojin said, and Shikadai sighed.

“Are you serious?”

“Put it on the chart,” Inojin said. “So it’s official.”

“You’re such a drag,” Shikadai grumbled, but he took a pen with him to the kitchen anyway. “Fine, I’m doing it.”

He scribbled onto the chart, then threw the pen over the counter at Inojin, who caught it with a shy smile.

Shikadai yanked the fridge open. “What did Chocho bring you? Do we have to actually cook, or can we just reheat whatever she made?”

“I think she brought me pasta. And I know she’s coming over tomorrow with more food. She said she would.”

“Good. Less work for me.” Shikadai tapped the chart. “Come and take your meds. The pasta won’t take long to heat up.”

Inojin heaved himself to his feet, and came to join Shikadai in the little kitchen area. He stopped to look at the chart, checking if there was anything coming up that needed his attention.

Inojin brushed his fingers over the chart, smiling softly at the notes at the bottom, and wondering how many more would be there by the end of the month. He took a pen, and scribbled a little daisy next to Shikadai’s note.

_Add on to next month’s chart – we have to share our feelings everyday like pathetic teenage girls._

_We’re not pathetic, we’re emotionally adjusted. I left lasagna in the freezer for you. Left side is Inojin’s. No onion or chili. – CC_

_: ) – I_

Shikadai was working again, with his laptop and a bunch of papers spread across the coffee table.

Inojin watched him from the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil for tea. He asked, softly, “Are you coming to training later today?”

“Moegi’s taking it,” Shikadai shrugged, not looking up. “I need to work on this.”

“What is it?”

“Need to contact the Wind Daimyo about stuff.”

“What about our mission tomorrow?”

“You and Chocho can handle it without me.”

Inojin chewed absently on his lower lip. This was happening a lot. Shikadai seemed to be skipping out on the easier missions, always preoccupied with other things. It worried Inojin a bit. He was scared Shikadai was getting bored of him.

Shikadai was talented and skilled, and the easy missions that Inojin took most commonly were way below the older boy’s abilities.

“When are you doing a mission with us again?” Inojin asked, tentatively.

“In a day or two. I just need to get this finished,” Shikadai said.

“You’re working a lot, lately.”

“Yeah. Got something I need to do.”

Inojin fidgeted his hands together, keeping an eye on Shikadai. The growing feelings he kept experiencing were becoming difficult. They cropped up at odd times, and Inojin didn’t know what to do with them. He wasn’t skilled enough to push them aside, and now, when they flared and lapped against his unease, he felt sick with emotion and uncertain of how to proceed.

Part of him wanted to go close to Shikadai, to touch him and lean against him and feel his warmth. Part of him wanted more space, more distance, fewer distractions. He could climb under his blanket and close his eyes. He could ask Shikadai to put the TV on so he could listen to something.

The indecisiveness bubbled out of him in a low, plaintive whine, and Shikadai’s head snapped up at the noise.

“You okay?” he asked.

Inojin shook his head, and that had Shikadai out of his seat and approaching.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head again, unsure of how to say what he was thinking.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Shikadai asked.

Inojin shrugged. He didn’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

There it was again, that burning happiness, because Shikadai looked so worried and gentle, and Inojin knew that concern was all for him. He whined again, “I don’t know what it is. It’s too much.”

“Do you need me to be closer to you, or further away?”

“Don’t know.”

“I’m getting a blanket,” Shikadai told him. He darted back to Inojin’s chair, grabbed the purple blanket, and returned to carefully drape it over the younger boy. “Better?”

Inojin shrugged again, uncertain.

Shikadai frowned. “I’m worried about you. This is happening more often. You never used to space out on me as much. Is it us living together? Is it too much pressure? You can move back with your parents if you need to.”

“No!” This Inojin was certain about. He shook his head. “I like it here.”

“I like you being here, too, but if you’re not feeling okay about it-“

“No!” It was rare for Inojin to interrupt, and it shocked Shikadai into silence. Inojin stared at the floor. “I want to stay.”

“But you’re worrying me.”

“I’ll get used to it,” Inojin murmured. “I’ll get used to the feelings.”

Shikadai let out a defeated sigh. “Okay. We can talk about it later. But sit down, or lie down, so I know you’re safe.”

“I’m not gonna pass out, Shikadai.”

“I know. But when you get spacey you don’t pay attention to what’s happening around you, and I don’t want you tripping over something or anything like that.” Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets. “Come on. Do you want to go to your chair, or to bed?”

Inojin didn’t know. He didn’t know what he wanted, and it bothered him. Unsure of how to express his frustration, he just shook his head. At least with the blanket as a barrier between them, Shikadai felt confident enough to lay a hand on Inojin’s shoulder and push him gently towards the couch. Inojin let himself be pushed down, and he wrapped himself more securely in his blanket, lying down without protest.

Shikadai sat down on the floor in front of the couch, gathering his papers again, pulling the laptop closer to the edge of the table. He continued working, and Inojin watched the back of his neck. Shikadai’s skin was always tanned, from training and from frequent visits to Suna, and a few wispy dark hairs hung loose from his ponytail.

Inojin reached out a hand curiously, the tips of his fingers brushing those hairs aside slightly.

Shikadai stiffened a bit, but didn’t shake him off or turn around.

Inojin trailed his fingers across Shikadai’s neck, and back again, then let them rest against the back of his shirt collar. After a few minutes, he let out a sigh, and pulled his hand back, shifting to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. He pushed into Shikadai’s mind to see what he was thinking, but was buffeted by too many raging thoughts – mostly green, but there were a few black ones, and the red one felt like a whipcrack against his spine – so he pulled his chakra back swiftly.

Shikadai was tapping away at the laptop, and the noise was oddly soothing. Inojin closed his eyes, just listening. It was calming and settled him, and after a he few minutes he drifted off to sleep.

“Moegi,” Shikadai jogged to catch up to her as she strolled through the halls.

“What’s up, Shikadai?” she smiled fondly at him. “Did you finish up the mission reports?”

“Yes. And sorted out the medical report updates, and checked on all the mission schedules you asked about. Hey,” he frowned slightly. “We were supposed to take the Feudal escort mission.” Shikadai sent her a sideways glance. “Why aren’t we?”

Moegi answered honestly. “Because it’s two nights in the field, and Inojin can’t handle that.”

“Yes, he can. Give him the chance.”

“It’s too much of a risk, and you know it.”

“I’ll cover him. Chocho will, too. He can do it; I know he can.” Shikadai blocked her path, staring her down. “Please let us take this mission. It’ll look really good on my record, and I need it.”

“Not with Inojin. I can’t take the chance.”

“It’s my chance. I’ll take it. Please.” He didn’t have a better argument, so he shrugged. “It’s an important mission.”

“Exactly. It’s important, it’s high risk, and I can’t put Inojin on it.”

“He manages fine in the field. Since you’ve let me take over training sessions I’ve kept up a perfect record, and we haven’t failed a single mission.”

“None of those were overnight,” Moegi pointed out. “It’s not your decision, it’s mine.”

“But he needs the chance, and I need the opportunity. Please. Let me show you what he can do. I’ll take full responsibility for him, for everything.”

She stared at him, thinking hard.

Shikadai waited.

Eventually, Moegi sighed.

“If anything goes wrong,” Moegi said firmly. “It’s on you.”

“Fine.” Shikadai nodded. “It won’t go wrong.”

“If he freezes up –“

“He won’t.”

“Shikadai-“

“I promise,” he said solemnly. “I will make sure he’s fine. And it can go on record that it was my idea, and I’m responsible for him.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “I’ll get the mission back. I hope he does as well as you think he can.”

Shikadai let out a sigh of relief. “It’ll be fine.”

He smiled to himself as he walked away. Finally, he had a chance to really show off what Inojin could do.


	6. Chapter 6

It was only the next day when he brought the mission up. Shikadai spent hours figuring out every little detail, planning the route, planning for problems, and once he was certain he had everything sorted, he waited until Inojin was mostly finished with dinner.

Shikadai studied the other boy carefully, half his mind on his ramen – Chocho had made it for them, stating the instant stuff just wasn’t good enough. Shikadai thought she just wanted to show off. Still, he wasn’t complaining. Every meal she made for them was one more that he didn’t have to do, and he was always happy to avoid extra work.

Inojin had been quiet today, mind off somewhere else, and he was chewing slowly, staring at the marble pattern of their countertop.

“Inojin,” Shikadai said eventually, pleased to see he could get Inojin’s attention immediately.

“Hm?”

“We’ve got the escort mission back, so I’m going to need you to manage away from home for a few nights,” Shikadai said.

Inojin stopped eating.

“It’s in a week, so we’ve got time to prepare,” Shikadai said. “I know you don’t like disruptions in your routine, but it’s really important that we take this mission. I need you to trust me.”

“Moegi won’t let me do away from home missions,” Inojin said slowly. “She says I can’t.”

“I told her you could.”

Inojin did not look convinced.

Shikadai sent him a sympathetic look. “I know it’s going to be hard, but it’s for the Feudal Lord, and I need this mission.”

“You’ve been needing a lot of things, lately,” Inojin observed in a murmur. “Why?”

“Just trust me. It’ll be worth it.”

“. . . What if I stop talking?”

“We have signals,” Shikadai reminded him. “And you don’t have to talk. You can stay quiet the whole time.”

“Okay,” he agreed, hesitantly. “But what if Moegi gets mad at me?”

“She won’t. I’m in charge, so you only have to do what I say. Moegi’s just there to help. Keep your eyes on me. It’s my mission. Don’t worry about anyone else.”

Inojin whined.

“Everything will be fine. Chocho will stay right next to you the whole time, and it’ll be easy. Just an escort. Okay?”

Inojin shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but after a long silence, he nodded. “Guess we can try.”

Shikadai beamed at him. “Thank you. It’ll be fine, and you’ll be perfect. You always are.”

“But this is different.” Things outside of his normal routine bothered him.

“It’s not different. We’ve done escort missions before. We’ve done protection missions before. We’ve done missions outside the village – none of this is different. You can do it.”

Inojin looked doubtful, but he didn’t contradict Shikadai. He thought everything through, organizing his thoughts and feelings, then shrugged, apparently satisfied with the idea.

Shikadai let out a small sigh of relief.

“If you’re leading the team,” Inojin stared at the countertop, “Then you won’t be next to me.”

“No. Chocho will, though.”

“Will she hold my hand?”

“Yes.” Shikadai didn’t need to ask her – Chocho would do whatever Inojin needed, without question.

“Okay,” Inojin breathed. “If it’s important to you.”

“Thank you,” Shikadai said sincerely. “It’ll help you too, I promise. We need this.”

Inojin squirmed uncomfortably.

“Everything will be fine,” Shikadai assured again. “Just do as you normally do on a mission. Nothing changes.”

That seemed to reassure Inojin, and he settled a bit, no longer shifting in place. Shikadai watched him carefully for a moment, looking for any obvious signs of distress, but the longer he lingered on the idea of an away mission, the more Inojin seemed to accept it.

“After the mission,” Inojin spoke softly, staring at his food, that Shikadai knew he wouldn’t finish. “Can we have a few days off?”

“Yeah, sure,” Shikadai agreed. That was easy to arrange. “We can do whatever you want.”

A little smile flickered over Inojin’s face, before disappearing. He mumbled something under his breath, that Shikadai didn’t catch, but didn’t press him to repeat it. Instead, he moved a hand closer to Inojin to sign ‘I love you’.

This time, a more genuine smile appeared, and Inojin casually flicked the same signs at Shikadai.

Shikadai assembled his escort team with Moegi up front, scouting ahead and watching for danger, and Inojin and Chocho behind them, investigating from the rear, while he placed himself right next to the Feudal Lord and his four personal guards, who had not yet spoken a single word out loud.

Shikadai had never spoken to the Feudal Lord face to face, but he had been carefully corresponding with him and his son, in a bid to lay foundations for future plans. He needed this mission as an opportunity to help set those things into motion.

So once they were well underway, and outside of Konoha, and everything seemed peaceful, Shikadai checked in with Inojin with several hand signs, and, satisfied he was managing, edged up close to the Feudal Lord.

“I’m Nara Shikadai.”

“Oh, _you’re_ Shikadai,” the Feudal Lord smiled broadly at him. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Thank you,” Shikadai nodded shortly. “I’m in charge of this team, and I wanted to talk to you about my teammate.”

The Feudal Lord glanced back. “Yes?”

“That’s Inojin,” Shikadai gestured towards the back of their little escort team. “He sometimes has trouble talking to people, but he’s still a good shinobi, and he could be even better if he was given more chances and better opportunities.”

“Why can’t he talk?”

“He can. Just not all the time.” Shikadai had been planning this speech for a while, and he went on confidently, “It hasn’t stopped him from communicating, though. We have a system in place for him. It helps him reach his potential on missions, and I think it could help other shinobi, too.”

“Most shinobi talk just fine,” the Feudal Lord pointed out.

“But should we exclude those who can’t? We have opportunities now that we didn’t have before. Why not include people who might be a little bit different? They might have things to offer that we haven’t seen before. There might be a ton of hidden potential in someone who doesn’t think they can be a shinobi, just because they have something about them that we don’t call normal.”

“Sounds like people like that would be at a disadvantage.”

“Not necessarily. Think of stealth missions. Think of intel gathering. Inojin is a mind reader. That’s a very valuable tool to have on a team. But he’s limited in what he can do, because the easiest way for him to communicate is a way not everyone uses.”

The Feudal Lord eyed him. “You sound like you have a plan.”

“I always have a plan.” Shikadai smirked.

The Feudal Lord glanced back at Inojin again. “Usually, I’d ignore little upstarts like you that think they know better than everyone else. However, I know Temari quite well, and I’ve heard a lot about the Nara clan, so I’m assuming you’re a bit more jacked up than the average shinobi.”

“I am,” Shikadai stated confidently. “And I’ve not only got plans for what I want, but solutions as well. I’m not bringing you puzzles and things to work out – I’m bringing you a fully functioning new communication system that needs nothing more than your approval. More than that,” Shikadai added, “I can also show it to you firsthand.”

The Feudal Lord raised an eyebrow.

“When we stop for the night,” Shikadai said. “I’ll let you see what I’ve been working on. Until then, keep an eye on me. I’ll be speaking with my teammates all of today, without saying anything to them. Surely you can see the benefit of a silent communication system?”

“I can see the benefit of a _functioning_ communication system.”

“Well, then,” Shikadai raised his head proudly. “Tell me whatever you want, and my team can do it.”

Inojin was watching Shikadai’s hands, and was surprised when he suddenly signalled them to stop, but gave no further commands. He cocked his head to the side, frozen in place, with Chocho’s hand firmly in his own.

“Do you think he’s spotted a problem?” Chocho murmured.

Inojin shrugged. Shikadai’s next signal was to keep moving, and they obeyed without question. Minutes later, he instructed them to split apart, check the surrounding area, and be back within five minutes. These were easy tasks, and Inojin carried out everything flawlessly, growing increasingly puzzled as to the number of instructions Shikadai was giving. Most escort missions were simple.

“Maybe he’s being extra careful because of the importance of who we are escorting?” Chocho suggested.

“Could be testing to see if I’m listening,” Inojin mused aloud. “Because Moegi doesn’t like it when I’m out the village.”

“If that’s his goal,” Chocho smirked. “You’re doing great.”

They kept a watchful eye on Shikadai, but Chocho still chatted easily, and Inojin listened to most of what she said, and pointed out the flowers they passed. By the time evening was rolling in, he was feeling relaxed and content.

Shikadai selected a suitable area to set up camp, and signalled Chocho and Inojin to check the perimeter, then go off duty while he and Moegi took the first watch shift.

Inojin settled down out of earshot of Shikadai, but close enough to see him if he signalled, and took out his sketchbook to draw the wildflowers. He didn’t know what they all were, and he wanted to get them down accurately on paper so he could look them up when he returned home. Chocho sat close beside him, snacking on chips, and letting him enjoy the silence of the forest.

The Feudal Lord sat on a convenient boulder, his guards placed at suitable distances, and Shikadai stood before him, explaining Inojin’s limitations and abilities.

“The Yamanaka clan is well known, I’ll admit that,” the Feudal Lord said. “But why focus on one of them who is subpar material, when there are other, better shinobi?”

“Because he’s talented, and mind readers can be invaluable,” Shikadai replied. “He learns fast – and he retains information well. It didn’t take me long to teach him a whole new language. Every good shinobi is worth something, and he’s worth something, too.”

“And he’s useful, on missions?”

“Invaluable,” Shikadai claimed.

The Feudal Lord sent Inojin a look.

“Can I show you a bit of what he can do?” Shikadai asked.

The Feudal Lord nodded. “Yes, go ahead.”

“I’m going to call him over here, and ask him to read your mind. I’m going to do the whole thing without speaking to him.”

The Feudal Lord raised a doubtful eyebrow.

“He struggles sometimes when he’s being spoken to, but he’s very good at watching my hands. All I need you to do is think of three things that you like. Don’t tell me what they are. Inojin will tell me.”

“Alright then.” The Feudal Lord glanced at Inojin again, briefly. “I’ll give it a try.”

Shikadai raised his hand, and Inojin looked at him, hesitating a moment before coming over.

Inojin stood close to Shikadai’s side, eyes on the ground, fingers fidgeting together. Shikadai moved swiftly through a few commands, and the Feudal Lord kept a keen eye on the way he moved his hands. After a moment, Inojin nodded, squeezed his eyes closed, and stood still for a few seconds.

When he opened his eyes again, he tugged uncertainly on Shikadai’s sleeve.

“You can write it down,” Shikadai assured him. “You don’t need to talk to him.”

There was visible relief in Inojin’s wobbly smile, and he whipped out a small scroll, and a brush and, with a flourish, scribbled down his thoughts, and held it out for Shikadai.

Shikadai glanced at it, then at the Feudal Lord, and said confidently, “Strawberry cupcakes, your family, and fish.”

Inojin looked at Shikadai for a prompt on what to do next.

The Feudal Lord nodded. “Impressive.”

“Thanks, Inojin,” Shikadai smiled at him. “You can go back to Chocho.”

Inojin left them, and the Feudal Lord turned his attention back to Shikadai.

“A lot of those signs were Konoha’s standard sign language for shinobi,” the Feudal Lord said.

“Yes, they are. I changed some of them to make the system easier, and added in others so it can be a bit more conversational.”

“Why go through the effort for one shinobi?”

“I’d do anything for him,” Shikadai replied. “But also he deserves to be comfortable in this world, just as much as you and me. And I think I know how to help him, and others. I have ideas to improve the shinobi system. However,” he smiled wryly. “I need support from figureheads like you.”

“You seem like a smart kid, and I’ve never heard a bad word about you.” The Feudal Lord sat back a bit, eying Shikadai. “Tell me what you need.”

Inojin spent most of the evening in Chocho’s lap, pressing back into her, wrapped in her arms and staring blankly at the fire, mesmerized by the flames.

Shikadai threw him a glance every few minutes, checking he was okay, but he stayed near the Feudal Lord, talking in low voices.

Eventually, Inojin’s eyes closed, and Chocho moved one hand to lay it against his forehead. He gave her a pleased hum, relaxing even more into her embrace.

“You can’t sleep on me,” she murmured.

Inojin stayed where he was.

“Do you want to sleep between me and Shikadai?”

Inojin nodded, and Chocho chuckled into his hair. “Okay. Shikadai’s still talking, but we can get ready.”

He didn’t want to move. It was warm and comfortable. But Chocho was pulling his hair free, smoothing her fingers through it, asking in a gentle voice, “Have you had enough to eat?”

He nodded, sinking further against her.

“Then put a jacket on, and we’ll get our blankets ready.” She spoke slowly, because Inojin didn’t always listen well when he was drowsy. He let her take the lead, mostly hovering while she shook out the bedrolls and took him by the hand to get him onto his, before covering him with his blanket.

He clutched his fingers into it, instantly captivated by the sensation.

“Stay here,” Chocho said. “I’ll be right back.”

Inojin didn’t hear her, too busy kneading his fingers in the blanket.

Chocho went to where Shikadai was sitting, leaning down and whispering over his shoulder, “Inojin’s a bit spacey, but I’ve got him to lie down. I’ll be with him.”

“He’s probably just tired,” Shikadai replied. “I’ll be there soon.”

Chocho nodded, and left him to continue his talk.

Inojin was dozing when she returned, eyes closed. Moegi sat a little away from him, watching him carefully, and Chocho gave her an encouraging smile and wink, mouthing, “He’s fine.”

Moegi nodded shortly, satisfied, and signalled to Chocho, ‘I’ll take first watch.’

Chocho lay down close to Inojin, and watched him carefully. He seemed to be falling asleep quickly. She closed her eyes and settled as well, knowing Moegi would alert them if needed.

Shikadai jostled Inojin lightly by the shoulder. “Inojin. Wake up. Did you take your meds?”

Inojin blinked his eyes open, catching Shikadai’s eyes for a second before flicking his gaze away. He shook his head.

“Get up and take them, then. Otherwise you won’t sleep.”

He shook his head again.

“Come on. I need you to. Remember, you’re showing Moegi you’re capable of being out in the field.” Shikadai took his hand. “Up. It won’t take long.”

With a sigh, Inojin sat up, mumbling under his breath. Shikadai waited patiently for him to take his medication, then gestured him close.

They lay down together, and for a few minutes there was no sound but the crackling fire.

Inojin nestled his face into the side of Shikadai’s chest. Shikadai was lying still, watching the stars and seemingly lost in thought.

Inojin tapped his chest to get his attention, and signed, ‘Can I read your mind?’

“Go ahead,” Shikadai murmured.

Inojin carefully focused his chakra, and tentatively peered into the swirling hurricanes of Shikadai’s thoughts. There were more colours this time. More than just the green and grey. Inojin recognized the burning red thought, that was twisted in with another pinkish thought.

He pulled at it curiously, but it was a jumble of thoughts and words and numbers and quickfire flashes that he couldn’t focus on for long. He let it go, and hunted down something else interesting. There was a thought the same colour as Chocho’s eyes, and Inojin latched onto it eagerly.

It was flowers.

“Why are you thinking of flowers?” Inojin whispered.

“Hm?” Shikadai glanced down at him. “I’m not?”

“Here.” Inojin pushed the thought forwards, nudging whatever was at the forefront of Shikadai’s mind to the side.

“Oh. That.” Shikadai shrugged. “Thought you might be happier with flowers in the apartment. I was going to ask you what you wanted. Other than daisies, because I know they’re your favourite.”

Shikadai lapsed back into thought, but Inojin shifted to look at him. There were amber shadows in the forest green of his eyes, cast by the flickering fire, and Inojin wanted to paint them. He looked for as long as he could, trying to commit the sight to memory.

“Want different flowers,” he finally murmured. “Maybe seeds, so I don’t know what they are. And we can see what they become.”

“Okay,” Shikadai agreed. He yawned widely, “Go to sleep, Inojin. I’ll wake you for your turn to keep watch.”

Inojin cuddled down happily, burying his face in Shikadai’s chest. He let out a contented hum when Shikadai shifted his arm and gently combed his fingers through Inojin’s bangs.

They returned from their mission without incident, and with Shikadai looking infinitely smug about it.

Once they were safely back inside Konoha, Moegi gave him an affectionate slap on the shoulder. “Okay, genius, you win this round. Inojin did great.”

“Told you,” Shikadai said. “He can cope fine as long as he’s being spoken to correctly.”

“You’re right about that,” Moegi conceded. “But that still limits him to only being able to function on a mission with you and Chocho.”

“Not if everyone could sign at him,” Shikadai shrugged.

“But they can’t,” Moegi pointed out.

“Not right now,” Shikadai replied. “But what if they could? What if everyone could?” He threw a glance at Inojin, who was walking at Chocho’s shoulder and staring at the ground.

“How are you planning on teaching an entire village to talk to one boy?” Moegi asked.

“Not just a village. A country.” Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets, brows furrowing. “I told Inojin I would change the world for him, if could.”

“Do you really think you can?” Moegi asked, gently, but realistically.

Shikadai looked at Inojin. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “It’d be a drag, but . . . why not?” He smiled at his team. “Why not try?”


	7. Chapter 7

Shikadai went home to his parents for regular Shogi matches with his father – that he never won, so he wondered why he bothered coming back.

But it was important time for Shikamaru, and a rare chance to get a completely honest conversation from him, and this week Shikadai had an agenda.

He waited until they were a few moves into the game, until the worry lines on his father’s face had relaxed and he was finally getting his mind off work and solely on the game.

“What do I need to do to qualify for Jounin?” Shikadai asked quietly.

Shikamaru looked up, surprised. “You want to go for Jounin? Why? I thought you said it’d be a drag.”

“Yeah, it is,” Shikadai shrugged. “But Moegi’s still messing Inojin around and right now I can’t choose missions for us or make any decisions. If I make Jounin, I get the team, and then no one can tell me what to do.”

Shikamaru studied his son carefully. After a long pause, wherein he considered the best way to answer, he said, “If you’re wanting a field promotion and not waiting for the exams, you need a recommendation letter from your sensei, a complete list of your missions, including any that you run yourself, and it helps to also have a list of other things you’ve done.”

“Like the daimyo escort, and the genin training sessions that I oversee, and the mission reports I check?”

“Yes.”

“Does clan stuff count as well? Can I also mention that I have clan research and responsibilities, and I do missions in Suna? Kankuro will send me my records.”

“You can add that in as well. Whatever you submit will be looked over by a panel of high-level shinobi, and then they’ll decide how best to assess you.”

“What do they usually do?”

“You’ll probably be asked to take a few special missions, maybe complete some training exercises. It seems unlikely they’ll give you a written exam, since it’s you, and we know you’ll ace it.”

“Will you help me get everything I need?”

Shikamaru sat back with a loud exhale. “I’d rather not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think you should try for Jounin, not so soon.”

“Don’t you want me to have a successful career?”

“I want you to have a long one,” Shikamaru replied. “And since you have a habit of taking on too much to take pressure off Inojin, I think you should reconsider this. And wait. Moegi knows what she’s doing.”

“Moegi holds us back. She always has, everyone agrees with me. Mom even says she’s too easy on us.”

“Everyone is too easy on you, by your mom’s standards.” Shikamaru glanced at him. “Moegi is more experienced than you. She’s making the right choices.”

“Do you really think that?”

“I do.” Shikamaru finally looked him in the eye. “You do the work of two people on your team. That’s more than you should be doing. Now you want to add Jounin onto that? That’s the work of two people, plus being the leader. It’s too much, and you don’t _have_ to do it.”

“But I _want_ to.”

“I just want you to think it through. _Properly_. I’m not saying no, I’m saying that I’m not going to help you right now. Give it time.”

“But Inojin’s ready for harder work now, and I want to lead my team, and help him. There’s only so much I can do as a Chuunin. I need Jounin to help him.”

“Give it a bit more thought,” Shikamaru said. “Really think about it. Pros and cons, what will change. And the reasons you want to do it – _your_ reasons. Reasons that don’t involve Inojin.”

Shikadai bit his lower lip nervously. Shikamaru had never said it, but Shikadai didn’t think his father liked that he was dating Inojin. He had never said no, never objected, but there was just a lingering feeling of disapproval.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I’ll think about it.” He studied the Shogi board, trying desperately to find a way to win. He knew it wouldn’t change anything – Shikamaru had never lost a match against him, and Shikadai didn’t think he ever would. “Give me a break, Dad, can’t you let me win sometime?”

Shikamaru chuckled. “What would the point be in that?”

“I don’t know. Make my life easier.”

Shikamaru clicked a tile into place, and Shikadai sighed at the loss. “Being Jounin won’t make it easier.”

That was the challenge, Shikadai thought. Win a Shogi match, be considered good enough to apply for Jounin. Shikadai reluctantly reset the board. “Best two out of three?”

“You’re about three hundred tries away from beating me,” Shikamaru crossed his arms. “But sure.”

Inojin was sitting at the kitchen counter with his watercolour paints spread out, idly putting the finishing touches on an exquisite pond and waterlilies scene for Chocho, when Shikadai came home.

“She’s got more paintings from you than I do,” Shikadai remarked, kicking the door closed behind him.

Inojin didn’t reply, but Shikadai wasn’t expecting him to. He dropped his backpack on the floor by the door and wandered to stand behind Inojin, looking over his shoulder at the painting. Inojin rubbed at a smudge in the corner, carefully blending the colour in with the surrounding ones, until it was smooth and flowing.

“I picked up some seed packets for you,” Shikadai said. “So you can grow your own flowers here. I went to the marketplace, so I have no idea what I bought. Two packets are in some foreign language, and one just says ‘wildflowers’, which I know from your rambling isn’t a specific flower.”

Inojin dropped his brush in a jar of water. “You got me seeds?”

“You wanted flowers. I don’t know what they’ll become, but I guess we’ll find out.”

He tossed the little paper packets down on the counter, and Inojin reached for them. He could feel the happy feeling starting to blossom in his stomach again, rapidly rising at Shikadai’s actions. It was violently present, and he flinched from it.

Shikadai narrowed his eyes. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Inojin squeezed his eyes shut. “Put a hug onto the list, because I can’t right now.”

“Sure, no problem,” Shikadai moved very slowly to the fridge, one hand on it, but still watching Inojin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Inojin wasn’t. He was frustrated and angry, because all he wanted was to wrap his arms around Shikadai and hold him tight and be held in return, and he couldn’t, because he was made all wrong and felt things differently. He shook his head.

“What do you need?” Shikadai asked, coming to stand opposite him across the counter.

Inojin shook his head again, hoping that would convey his uncertainty better than his words could. He didn’t like the way he was feeling. It was too much, inexplicably too much, because Shikadai had brought him things before, and spoiled him before, so why was this action suddenly so unbearable?

“Inojin?” Shikadai moved around the counter. He laid a hand on Inojin’s shoulder, feeling the muscle there tense and rigid. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

No, he couldn’t. Because there was nothing wrong, there was just Inojin and his inability to function normally, and it was overwhelmingly frustrating. Inojin didn’t know what he wanted, or what he was feeling, but he didn’t like anything that was happening.

He turned abruptly, sliding off his seat to the floor, feeling his knees buckle slightly. Within that same instant, Shikadai moved to hold him up, and Inojin knew he was saying something, but he couldn’t hear it or process it. Everything was just a blurry, noisy mess, and Shikadai’s hands on him were burning and uncomfortable.

He tried to push Shikadai away, shaking his head again.

Shikadai kept holding him, trying to get his attention back on him. “Inojin, come on, can you hear me?”

The heat from his body was insufferable, and Inojin gathered up all the focus he could muster.

“Stop!” Inojin shouted, and Shikadai snatched his hands back abruptly. “Just stop, stop, too much!”

“Inojin,” Shikadai tried gently. “You’re okay.”

“No, stop, too much,” Inojin turned away from him, squeezing his eyes closed, breath turning ragged and uneven. “Stop.”

“I have stopped. I’ll always stop if you ask.”

“Too much!”

“What is?”

“Feelings!” Inojin buried his hands in his hair, and Shikadai hesitated in place, wondering if he needed to step in and stop Inojin from hurting himself.

Shikadai angled his body away carefully, trying not to face Inojin, not to be too confrontational.

“Go away,” Inojin muttered.

“Inojin . . .”

“Go away!” he shrieked. “It’s too much and I hate it!”

Shikadai’s frown deepened, unsure of how to help. It had been a very long time since Inojin had reacted like this. Shikadai was confused, and he wasn’t used to feeling helpless.

Inojin pushed past him, aiming for his bedroom. Shikadai let him pass without protest, figuring that stopping him wouldn’t help. He flinched at the door slamming, and shuffled over to lay a hand against it.

“Inojin,” he called softly. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Go away!”

“I can’t leave you like this,” Shikadai said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

There was no reply, but Shikadai wasn’t expecting one.

“I won’t come inside unless you ask me to, but I’m going to stay right here,” Shikadai assured. He sat down, anticipating being there for a while, and leaned his back against the door. “Inojin, everything’s okay. You don’t have to talk to me, just promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

Inojin remained quiet, but it meant that Shikadai knew he wasn’t moving and doing anything dangerous. He heaved a sigh, wondering if he was supposed to keep talking or not.

The silence stretched on for ages before Shikadai heard Inojin shift against the door.

“Mom,” Inojin finally muttered.

“I’ll call her,” Shikadai said. “Right now. Stay where you are.”

He got up fluidly, trying not to make any odd noises. The apartment felt oddly silent, and Shikadai called Ino, keeping his voice low and steady, “Inojin’s freaking out and I don’t know what to do. He said to call you.”

Ino’s reply was swift. “Where are you?”

“We’re at home. He’s in his room. I don’t think he’s doing anything wrong.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes. Stay nearby.”

Shikadai sighed. He hated feeling like he couldn’t help Inojin. The butterfly painted on his wrist flared up and disappeared, and Shikadai whipped around to face Inojin’s door.

“Inojin?” he called tentatively. “I felt the butterfly move. Do you need help?”

There was a pause, then Inojin whispered thinly, “Need a blanket.”

“Okay.” Shikadai immediately retrieved the dark purple one from the armchair. It was Inojin’s favourite colour, the one that soothed him most easily. “I’ve got it right here. Can you open the door for me?”

“Don’t look at me.”

“I won’t,” he promised. When the door opened a crack, he edged a corner of the blanket in, watching Inojin tug it the rest of the way into the room. The door closed again. “Are you hurt?”

He received no answer, and had to sit quietly and just wait helplessly.

Ino was at their door in a surprisingly short amount of time, and Shikadai let her in, gestured at Inojin’s door with a shrug. “He won’t let me in.”

“Inojin, sunshine?” Ino knocked lightly on his door. “It’s me, baby. Can you open the door for me?”

There was a long silence, before the door opened a crack. Shikadai stood back, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Ino slipped inside, and closed the door.

Inojin sat against the wall, right next to the door, arms around his knees.

“Hey,” Ino sat down on the floor next to him. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Too much,” Inojin whispered, not opening his eyes.

“Do you want me to see what you’re thinking?”

He nodded, curling into a tighter ball.

“Can I touch you?”

He shook his head violently, and Ino shifted a bit further away from him.

“Okay. That’s alright. I won’t touch you. Just stay still, and try to relax.” Ino hovered a hand over his head to make things easier for herself, but didn’t make contact with him.

Reading Inojin’s mind was easy enough, although he tended to tangle thoughts and knot them up, and Ino was used to gently unravelling them and helping him put them in order. It was no different this time, with his thoughts jerking and erratic, and bumping into each other.

It was too jumbled to make sense of – _hurt, stop, hurt, Shikadai, don’t want, no_ – so she tried her best to get things into a readable format. Inojin was passive to her chakra intrusion, not hindering her, but not helping either. He stayed very still, and didn’t bother guiding his thoughts into easier directions.

Eventually, Ino laid out what she needed, and Inojin gave her an affirmative sort of hum.

_I want to be close to Shikadai, but I hate how it feels. It’s everywhere, and it burns, and it makes me angry at myself because I don’t want to move away from him, but I have to. I hate being out of control, I hate having to stop all the time. I wanna hold him for longer than a few seconds and I wanna be able to touch him without worrying about it and feeling weird._

_Just wanna be close to him. That’s all._

_Just close._

“You can’t get angry at yourself for how you feel,” Ino murmured.

“Hate it,” he mumbled.

“I know. I know, sunshine.”

“I get so angry.”

“Being angry at yourself isn’t going to help.” Ino looked at him sadly.

“I don’t wanna feel like this,” Inojin growled, uncurling slightly and staring at the wall. “Feels wrong and out of control. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“We’ve had these problems before, and you’ve learnt to deal with it. This is just another thing you have to figure out. You know you feel things differently to other people, so we need to find a way for you to handle it.”

“Take it away?” Inojin asked in a small voice.

“Sunshine, you know I can’t take your feelings away. You need to do that yourself. So let’s calm down together, okay?” Ino sat up a bit straighter. “Take a breath between each sentence. Now, what are five things you can see?”

Inojin squirmed in place, uncomfortable with articulating his thoughts. “Blanket. Bed, wall-“

“Slow down,” Ino said gently. “Really look, don’t rush.”

Inojin drew in a shuddering breath. “Curtains. Floor.”

“That’s better. What are three things you can hear?”

He scrunched his nose up. He needed to think about that one. The apartment was mostly silent right now – he knew that’s why Ino had said three things instead of the usual four. He thought for a minute. “There’s a bird somewhere outside. And people talking far away.” He strained to hear more. “And I think the TV’s on?”

“I think it is,” Ino agreed. “How are you feeling now?”

“Tired.”

Ino stood up, and Inojin did the same, automatically falling into the habit of following her lead, of giving up the need to make independent decisions. Ino led him to his bed.

“Lie down and try to relax,” Ino said. “I’ll check on you again in a while.” She longed to brush his hair back, to lay her hand on his forehead, but he was finally settling down, and she didn’t want to startle him. She left the room quietly.

Shikadai jumped up from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“He’s calming down,” Ino sighed. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. We were just talking, really, and he freaked out.” Shikadai sent Inojin’s door an anxious glance. “I don’t think I did anything wrong, but maybe I did.”

“It probably wasn’t you.” Ino shook her head. “He’s mentioned a few times that he’s feeling too much around you.”

“The happy feeling, he calls it,” Shikadai muttered.

“Yes. It might have been that he had just been having a bad day, and this was too much to handle. I’ll stay here for a few minutes, and check on him once he’s had a chance to relax. I don’t think he’ll get upset again.”

Shikadai sat down on the arm of the couch, looking hunched and small.

“What if it happens again?” Shikadai asked in a low voice.

“Just call me, if you can’t manage,” Ino said.

“But what do I do? How do I help him?” Shikadai shook his head, his frustration leaking out. “I don’t want to do anything wrong, and I don’t want to . . . do anything that makes it worse.”

“It’s not you, Shikadai. We’re going to figure this out. Just give him some space for now.” Ino folded her arms across her stomach. “What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Inojin was meant to be training with Sai,” Shikadai shrugged. “I was gonna walk him there and then take a nap or something. Should we cancel?”

“No,” Ino shook her head. “If we can get him out of the house and back into his usual schedule, I think that’ll help.”

“Okay,” Shikadai sighed. “I’ll try.”

He sent Inojin’s door a nervous look, unsettled by the day’s events.

“Wait for a while,” Ino advised. “Then check on him and see if he’ll continue with his normal day. I’ll check him now before I leave.”

Shikadai stayed where he was, feeling slightly defeated. Things had been going well, he thought. Except for this ‘happy feeling’ that seemed to spark out of control at odd times.

And Shikadai couldn’t help but feel as though it was his fault.


	8. Chapter 8

“Inojin?” Shikadai knocked lightly on his bedroom door. “I’m coming in, okay?”

When there was no verbal protest, he eased the door open and peered inside.

Inojin was still lying on his bed, fingers twisting listlessly together.

“Hey,” Shikadai said softly. “We’re meant to be going out. Your dad is waiting for you.”

Inojin said nothing, but he shrugged, so Shikadai at least knew he had been heard. He edged closer.

“Inojin? I know you’re not feeling well but it’ll help to go out and get things back to normal.”

But Inojin didn’t have a normal; that was the problem. He _wasn’t_ normal.

“I won’t touch you,” Shikadai assured. “But at least sit up and let me know you’re okay.”

“M’fine,” Inojin murmured.

“Can you get up?”

There was another long silence, then Inojin heaved himself to sit up, staring at the floor. He stayed quiet, but stood up after another minute of contemplation.

Shikadai offered a hand to hold, but Inojin made no move to take it. It was worrisome, but at least he was up and walking, although Shikadai knew his focus would be worse than usual, and he would need a careful eye kept on him during their walk to meet Sai.

They walked there in silence, with Inojin lagging a bit behind, and Shikadai had to check over his shoulder frequently to make sure he was still there, and occasionally reached a shadow back to gently correct Inojin’s wandering.

Inojin was watching the street as they walked, and didn’t notice when they arrived at his parents’ house. He was still meandering past, when Shikadai wrapped a shadow around his wrist and pulled him to a stop. Inojin blinked, head shooting up, surprised to find them already where they needed to be.

“Hey,” Shikadai said. “Stay close to me, okay? Don’t want you getting lost.”

Inojin had to concentrate to hear him. He stared at the shadow still around his arm. It felt safe and grounding, and it connected him to Shikadai in a way that was secure and comforting. He could feel a little glimmer of the happy feeling returning.

Shikadai had already knocked on the door, and Inojin barely noticed Sai answering. He was tugging at the shadow, feeling it grip gently at his skin.

“Inojin,” Shikadai tried again. “Hey, are you listening?” He sent Sai an apologetic look. “He’s been a bit off today.”

“It’s okay,” Sai replied. “Days like these happen.”

Ino came wandering to the door as well, looking relieved to see them. “Hello, Shikadai, how is he?”

Shikadai shrugged, pulling lightly at Inojin again. “Not so great.”

Inojin stayed staring at the shadow around him. He wanted it to be Shikadai, to be his fingers instead of just a shadow. But at the same time, he didn’t want to be touched, and it was maddeningly frustrating to be so unsure in himself.

He didn’t know what to do when the thing he wanted was the also the thing bothering him. He wanted Shikadai, he wanted his warmth and comfort and safety, but being near him was burning and painful, and he knew it was because he was wrong and _not right_ and _different_ , and it upset him.

All he wanted was Shikadai, and he couldn’t have him, not in any way he wanted, because his body and mind constantly betrayed him. He squeezed his eyes shut, a low, plaintive whine working from his throat, and instantly he felt Shikadai step to his side.

He shook his head, hand darting out to block Shikadai’s approach.

“Inojin,” Shikadai said softly. “Hey, it’s okay. Look, I’ll stay away from you-“

“Don’t want that,” Inojin snapped. That was the problem – he didn’t want Shikadai to stay away, he wanted him to come closer, but that wasn’t an option either, and it should have been – they did it all the time, hugged and kissed and touched and it wasn’t fair that Inojin couldn’t get that now.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Shikadai asked, hesitating.

“No!”

Shikadai bit his lip, trying to puzzle through what Inojin needed. There was never a clear answer when he got like this, never a solution that Shikadai could see. In the past, a stronger shadow hold had worked, and Shikadai tried that, wrapping a few more tendrils around him, as Ino spoke softly, “Inojin, try to calm down.”

For a moment, it looked like Inojin was settling. He braced a bit against Shikadai’s shadows, muscles tensing. The frustration was aimed at himself, but it was too much to hold inside, and he shook his head again, violently.

To Shikadai’s complete surprise and utter shock, Inojin broke his shadow hold, wrenching his limbs free. It was instinct to move closer to him, and Shikadai gathered his chakra, sending another thread of shadow to Inojin’s arm. It barely touched his skin before Inojin swung his arm, the back of his hand catching Shikadai across the face.

It barely hurt, but it shocked Shikadai into silence, freezing in place, as Inojin took a shaky step back, eyes wide and unfocused.

Swiftly, Sai stepped in, firmly pushing Shikadai aside, grabbing Inojin by one wayward wrist and pulling his back to Sai’s chest, holding Inojin still with his other arm. Inojin shouted something at him – Shikadai couldn’t tell if it was words or just an irritated noise – and struggled against Sai’s hold.

Shikadai stayed where he had been placed, helpless and unsure.

“Let go!” Inojin managed to growl, straining to break free.

“It’s just me,” Sai said. “Inojin, it’s me. Come on, you know me.”

Inojin still fought slightly, but he was leaning more into Sai than trying to get away. His chest was heaving, breath catching slightly. Sai kept him pinned to his chest, waiting until Inojin was staying still.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go sit down.”

Shikadai took half a step after them, before hesitating.

Ino laid a gentle hand on Shikadai’s shoulder and steered him away. They went into the flower shop for some privacy, and Ino guided Shikadai to the counter to sit down. He hunched his shoulders, feeling miserable and defeated.

Ino sat opposite him, hands clasped together as she mused. “That’s not the first time he’s done that, is it?”

“No,” Shikadai murmured. “Just the first time he’s lashed out at me.”

Ino looked at Shikadai. He was sitting as though weighed down, heavy and defeated, and she felt a twist of pity in her stomach. He was trying so hard. He was so good with Inojin, and Shikadai was used to being the best at everything, and seeing him lost and out of his depth was unusual.

It was no secret that Shikadai brought out the best in Inojin, but he was also a catalyst for the worst. Inojin’s growing and flooding emotions around him were starting to cause problems, because Inojin couldn’t handle them, and didn’t know what to do when he was overwhelmed. It was a problem Ino had been dreading facing, because there wasn’t a soft and easy way to talk about it. The fact was that Shikadai was the problem, because he was the reason for Inojin’s overwhelming breakdowns.

Ino sighed, knowing there was no way around this. She offered Shikadai a sympathetic smile, which he didn’t see, and gathered her resolve. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Then don’t tell me.” Shikadai could guess already, and Ino knew it.

She heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Shikadai.”

He stared at his hands.

“I really don’t want to split you two up, but you have to admit, he’s struggling.”

“I know,” Shikadai said miserably.

“He doesn’t know how to handle all that he feels for you. And it’s upsetting him.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure what to do here, because I really don’t want to tell you to spend less time with him, but at the same time . . . being around you is starting to become a problem.”

Shikadai nodded slightly. “Look, um . . . if breaking us up is best for him, then I’ll do it, I just . . .” He swallowed. “I just want to be sure it’s the only way. And . . . and he’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think we need to go that far just yet,” Ino said gently. “But, Shikadai, I do need to ask you a few things that you might be uncomfortable answering.”

Shikadai looked up hesitantly. “Yeah?”

“I know this is going to be hard, but I do need to know the answers to some of these questions.”

Shikadai let out a tense breath. “Okay.”

“Are you two having sex?”

“No,” Shikadai shook his head. “No, we haven’t even talked about it.”

“That makes me feel a lot better,” Ino admitted. “And answers some of my following questions. But I need to ask – whatever you’re doing, does Inojin start it, or do you?”

Shikadai bit his lower lip. “I usually let him come to me and ask. For kisses and stuff. Sometimes I’ll ask him first – but I always ask, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Ino said. “I know you wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want you to do. And I know you’re careful with him. Does he ever ask you to stop, and you don’t?”

Shikadai’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing, and Ino held up a hand. “I’m not trying to upset you, and I’m pretty certain I know the answer to this, but I still need to ask it.”

“No, I don’t,” Shikadai snapped. “I would never. If he says stop, we stop. Every time.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. Why does he usually ask you to stop?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t like the feeling,” Shikadai shrugged, calming down a fraction. “Sometimes he gets overwhelmed and wants to stop. A couple of times he just gets distracted by other things. Depends on his mood. Bad days he wants to stop sooner. Some good days he doesn’t say stop.”

“How far do you go, when he doesn’t say stop?”

Shikadai’s cheeks flushed. “Um . . . nothing bad. Just . . . nothing bad.”

“What if he can’t say stop, but still wants to?”

Shikadai squirmed in his seat. “We have a signal. He can say no or stop with signs. He can just walk away and I won’t follow him, unless he says I can. And I . . .” Shikadai hesitated. “I pay attention to him. I do. I watch him, and if I think he’s uncomfortable . . . well, I’m really, _really_ careful with him. I promise.”

“Okay,” Ino said gently. “I’m sorry for upsetting you. But you understand that things can get complicated in a relationship where one half cannot always say yes?”

“I know,” Shikadai murmured. “But I’m careful with him. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” Ino said, and Shikadai sent her a hopeful look. Ino wished she could reassure him. “How often is this happening?”

“He’s been complaining about the ‘happy feeling’ on and off for several weeks now,” Shikadai said dully. “Sometimes he likes it, and just tells me that it’s there. Lately it’s been a bit stronger and bothering him.”

“Have you noticed any patterns to it? Certain times it comes up?”

“No,” Shikadai shook his head. “Seems random to me. If I could predict it, I would have done something to help him . . .”

“Don’t blame yourself,” Ino told him softly. “It’s no one’s fault.”

“I’m supposed to be looking after him,” Shikadai replied stubbornly. “It’s always my fault if something’s wrong. I’m meant to be there for him, and help him-“

“You do. I thought something like this might happen soon.”

“So . . . so what are you going to do?”

“First priority is making sure Inojin is alright. Then I’m going to try talking to him and seeing if he can answer any of these questions I just asked you. Just to make sure he’s handling his feelings alright, and to make sure he understands what your physical relationship means.”

Shikadai looked away, cheeks flushing pink. “Not gonna go further than he’s okay with . . .”

Ino figured she had got enough out of him. “Thank you for talking to me. I know it must have been hard.”

“Not exactly my first choice of topics for conversations,” Shikadai said wryly. “But if Inojin can’t answer you, then I will.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “So, now what?”

“I think,” Ino said gently. “That we keep you two apart for a few days, until I can get him to calm down from this latest meltdown. Sai and I have been talking, and we’ll probably try to adjust his medication, and see if that helps.”

Shikadai looked at her. “I’ve got some things to do in Suna. I can leave early. If it’ll help.”

_Poor boy_ , Ino thought. _He’s trying so, so hard to do the right things._ “I think that’s a good idea.”

“I can . . . take the train this evening.” Shikadai sounded defeated, but there was a steely determination in his voice. He would do whatever was needed.

Ino felt a hot rush of fondness for him. Inojin was so, _so_ lucky to have him. “Alright. But wait a while before you leave. Maybe Inojin will feel better, and be able to talk to you.”

Shikadai folded his arms on the counter in front of himself, and dropped his head down, face hidden with a resigned groan.

“This is such a drag,” he muttered, and Ino patted him gently on the shoulder as she moved away from him to tidy up around the shop. She figured Sai would let her know as soon as Inojin was calm enough to talk.

Inojin had calmed a bit. He lay against Sai’s chest on the couch, staring at the ceiling, breathing returning to normal. Sai could still feel the quick beat of his heart, but Inojin was no longer fighting out of his hold, and seemed to be responding to the gentle pressure of a hand on his forehead, and Sai’s other arm loosely across his stomach.

“Inojin,” Sai began, “Are you listening to me?”

Inojin didn’t respond.

“I have some things I need to say to you, but I need to know that you’re listening.”

Slowly, Inojin nodded.

“Okay. Good.” Sai kept his voice level and calm. He took a moment to think, before continuing.

“Being in love is terrifying,” Sai murmured, keeping his hand firm against Inojin’s forehead.

The boy squirmed in his grasp, but made a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

“It’s overwhelming, and it can feel terrible at times. That’s what you feel, isn’t it?”

Inojin let out a shuddering breath. “You – you feel like that too?”

“All the time,” Sai replied. “I didn’t feel a lot growing up. Then I started getting the hang of it. There were easy feelings, like sadness and happiness. Those didn’t hurt. But some of them did hurt. Loneliness hurt. And love hurt, so, so much.”

Inojin nodded shakily.

“Sometimes I wished I could go back to the way I was,” Sai lessened the pressure on Inojin, seeing what would happen. Inojin stayed calmly in his grip. “Sometimes I thought things would be better if I didn’t feel as much. It would be easier. And it didn’t hurt.”

“Hurts,” Inojin whimpered. “Around Shikadai, a lot.”

“I know. I felt the same way around Naruto and Sakura, when they were my only friends. And then around your mother. But even though it hurt, there were so many good things that came of it. And I got used to it. Now, loving your mother doesn’t hurt anymore. I like the feeling. I learned to control it.”

Inojin squirmed again, but he didn’t try to get free.

“I thought that I already knew everything there was to know about love.” Sai breathed into Inojin’s hair, closing his eyes briefly. “Until you were born. Then I realized – I hadn’t even begun to experience love. When you were born, the feelings were so intense. It hurt so much, and I wanted to cry. When we realized you were so special, I loved you more. More and more, every day. And that was a lot. I think I had to make up for all the years I spent not knowing how to love.”

Inojin hummed quietly.

“What you’re feeling for Shikadai? That’s love. And it will hurt you. But the hurt will fade away. And we can help you. And Shikadai can help you.”

“How?” Inojin’s voice trembled over the word.

“If you’re feeling too much, and you don’t like it, you can walk away from the situation. You can ask Shikadai to leave you alone, if you need that. Or to stay with you, if you need that. He’ll do whatever you ask of him. And you can talk to us. Anytime. If you can’t speak, just send a message. Or get Shikadai to call. Anything you need is fine.” Sai pressed his hand firmly down again, “And Inojin, I know you don’t like talking about it, but you’re getting older and the medications you were taking might not be enough anymore. We might need to change the doses.”

That had Inojin shifting restlessly, whining low in his throat, instantly uncomfortable.

Sai kept him held firmly, wanting to keep his attention. “You know it helps you. And that’s all we want – to help you. Do you think we can talk more about your meds?”

“Later,” Inojin whined. “Too tired.”

“Okay. We’ll talk later.” Sai relaxed his hand, no longer worried Inojin would try to fight free. “How are you feeling now?”

“Tired.”

“I think you should spend the night here, where we can keep an eye on you.”

“I can’t go home with Shikadai?” Inojin moved a bit, craning his head to catch Sai’s eye for a second.

“Your mother is worried about you,” Sai explained. “She doesn’t want you to feel bad in the night, and Shikadai won’t know what to do. It’s just one night – we’re not telling you that you can’t stay with Shikadai anymore. You can go back again once you’ve calmed down properly. Besides, we still have more to talk about tonight.”

“Okay,” Inojin agreed wearily. “But can I at least say good night to Shikadai?”

“Of course.” Sai let Inojin go.

Inojin stood up, hands coming together to twist his fingers. He stood still, thinking, before asking, “Where did Mom take him?”

“I think they went to the shop to talk,” Sai came to Inojin’s shoulder.

Inojin hesitated, then took careful, cautious steps through the house and towards the flower shop.

Shikadai was leaning against the counter, eyes tracking over the rows of flowers in a disinterested manner, just passing time, just puzzling his way through his thoughts. The moment Inojin entered, though, his jade eyes snapped towards Inojin.

When Inojin stopped under the weight of his gaze, Shikadai looked down, and made no move to approach him.

Inojin took in a deep breath, trying to focus himself. He tried to figure out what Shikadai was thinking, but the boy’s face was impassive and blank, and Inojin gave up. It would be easier just to ask. Guessing at what Shikadai was thinking had always been difficult. He shuffled a bit closer.

Shikadai stayed very still, eyes down, waiting to see what Inojin would do.

Inojin forced his hands apart, closing the gap between them. “Sorry,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Sorry I hit you.”

“It’s okay,” Shikadai replied instantly. “I’m not angry.”

“Hug?” Inojin asked, tentatively opening his arms.

With slow and predictable movements, Shikadai pulled him close, hooking his chin over Inojin’s shoulder. He squeezed him hard, feeling slightly desperate.

“I love you,” Shikadai whispered, unsure if Inojin was even listening. “Never forget that.”

“I won’t,” Inojin’s voice trembled a bit.

Shikadai held onto him until Inojin started to pull away. This was one of those times where he wished he could cup Inojin’s face in his hands and gaze into his baby blue eyes, but he knew he couldn’t. He kept his hands firmly at his sides, looking at Inojin’s shoulder instead of his eyes. “I’ve . . . got business in Suna. So I’ll be away for a few weeks.”

Inojin just nodded.

“I’ll call you when I get there. Keep safe, okay?”

“Okay.” Inojin stared vaguely at some flowers off to Shikadai’s right.

Shikadai hesitated, then seemed to gather his resolve. He cleared his throat softly. “Bye, Inojin.”

Inojin didn’t look away from the flowers, but he signed ‘goodbye’, and Shikadai left the shop.

He went back to their apartment and threw what he needed into his backpack, messaged Chocho that he would be away and she needed to look after Inojin, then made his way swiftly to his parents’ house.

He found them both sitting outside on the front porch, and he sidled up to them, eyes down.

“Mom?” Shikadai asked in a small voice. “Can we leave for Suna early?”


	9. Chapter 9

Temari didn’t question Shikadai’s decision to leave for Suna early. She and Shikamaru merely shared a meaningful glance, then she took less than half an hour to gather her things, and they made the silent walk to the train station.

Once the train started moving, Shikadai leant his shoulder against the window and stared moodily out at the scenery. He stayed silent until Temari moved, catching his attention.

“Here.” Temari slapped a sheaf of papers onto Shikadai’s lap.

“What’s this?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The paperwork you’ll need to apply for Jounin.”

Shikadai stared at her.

Temari shrugged. “You’ve got a few weeks in Suna. Use them wisely.”

“Um . . . Moegi has to write a recommendation for me and she won’t do it.”

“When you take missions in Suna, you do them under my authority, or Kankuro’s,” Temari said. “So if you want a Jounin’s recommendation, you’ve got it.” She looked at him levelly. “And you might even find the Kazekage willing to put in a good word at the recommendation council.”

He let out a tense breath. “Dad doesn’t want me to try for Jounin just yet.”

“I know. But it’s not because he doesn’t think you’re capable. It’s because he thinks you’re staking too much of your life on Inojin. He just wants you to think of more than your relationship when it comes to life decisions.”

“You and Dad staked whole countries on your relationship,” Shikadai muttered, looking out the window again.

“The peace treaty was already in place,” Temari replied, with a wry smile. “We just confirmed it would never be broken. But,” Temari folded her arms. “This isn’t about us. It’s about you. If you’re certain about what you want, then go for it.”

Shikadai flicked his eyes towards her, then the papers, and back out the window. “I’m certain. I want to do it.”

“Okay, then,” Temari nodded. “We can talk to Kankuro when we get there. It’s not going to be easy,” she warned. “We’re not going to make things simple just because it’s for you. You’re going to have to work hard. So, if you’re not up for it, or you don’t think Inojin’s worth it, you can back out, and rethink it in a few years.”

Shikadai narrowed his eyes. “He’s worth it. I’m doing it.”

He had goals and plans, and he needed to be more than Chuunin to get to them. He had settled into life as it was, relaxed and not pushing himself. The time for that was over.

Now, it was time to grow.

Chocho was at Inojin’s ‘family meeting’ for moral support, and she and Inojin sat on one side of the kitchen table, with Ino and Sai opposite them.

“Okay, no point in beating about the bush,” Ino said. “Inojin, let’s talk about your medication.”

“I’m taking it when I’m supposed to,” he mumbled, staring at the table.

“Just the two of them? The anti-anxiety meds, and the one that helps you focus?”

“Yeah.”

Chocho looked at Ino. “Does he still need the anti-anxiety one?”

“He doesn’t take it for anxiety, it just helps keep his mood stable so he can concentrate,” Ino explained.

“I don’t think it’s working,” Inojin said.

“Why do you think that?” Sai asked, curious.

“Because everything feels different around Shikadai,” Inojin explained. “I remember what it felt like when I started taking those meds, and they don’t work anymore.”

“We did cut the dose when you started taking missions,” Ino said. “And never put it back up.”

“Do we need to up it again?” Sai asked.

Ino sighed, leaning back in her chair. She folded her arms across her stomach, looking thoughtfully at Inojin.

“I think toss the anti-anxiety ones altogether,” Ino speculated. “And I’ll find a mood stabilizer. That might help.”

“Will it make things feel less intense?” Inojin asked quietly. “I wanna be close to Shikadai, but sometimes it feels like too much.”

“Yes, hopefully,” Ino said. “It should help. Obviously, we won’t know until Shikadai is back from Suna, but you can start taking it and see how you feel. I can swing by the hospital later today and get something for you. But Inojin,” Ino said quietly, waiting until she was certain he was listening to her, “There may be limits on what you and Shikadai can do, physically. Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you?”

“I just wanna cuddle more,” Inojin murmured. “Not whatever you’re thinking. Just wanna lie on him while he’s playing games, and wanna hug him for long. That’s all.”

“Okay,” Ino nodded. “That sounds doable.”

“Can I go home now?” Inojin asked. “You said I could when I was feeling better.”

“You can stay here as long as you want to,” Ino put in. “We’re not kicking you out.” She was worried about him being alone. She sent Sai a meaningful glance.

He flicked his gaze between her and Inojin. “Do you want me to go with him?”

“It might be a good idea, while he’s adjusting to new medication.”

Inojin huffed, and Ino sighed. “I’m not trying to upset you, but I worry when you’re alone. Are you going to eat enough? Are you going to sleep?”

Inojin shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Chocho said. “I can sleep over a few nights and make sure everything is fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ino asked, but she looked relieved.

“Yeah. I’m going over there every day, anyway.” Chocho smiled at Inojin, who turned his head away. “It’s no big deal.”

“Thank you,” Ino said sincerely. “I’ll be over later with his new medication.”

Chocho tapped the table in front of Inojin, and when he looked at her hand, she signed to him ‘Let’s go home.’

Inojin stood up mechanically, and Chocho offered her hand to him. He took it tentatively.

Ino raised an eyebrow.

“So he doesn’t have to focus on walking home,” Chocho explained. “I often hold his hand when we’re walking together. He can just follow me, then.”

The explanation coaxed a smile from Ino. Chocho had always been inclined to coddle Inojin, to shelter him from things, to step up and protect him from the world. Ino stood up, hoping to get a hug from Inojin, but he shrunk back at her approach, and she wisely backed off again.

Sai put a hand on her shoulder, and she shot him a grateful look.

“Bye, Inojin,” he said, and Inojin replied with a small, slightly dismissive wave of his hand.

Chocho tugged him towards the door, speaking softly, and he followed her without hesitation.

They left an eerie silence. Ino leant back into Sai’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Chocho and Shikadai will look after him,” Sai assured. “You know they will.”

“I know.” She hooked her fingers over his arms.

“I used to think Shikamaru and Chouji and I were close,” Ino smiled. “But those three are a different type of close.”

The apartment felt big and lonely without Shikadai in it.

He spent the first night alone sleeping in Shikadai’s bed, swaddled beneath his blankets, while Chocho stayed in his room.

She made sure he had eaten breakfast the next morning, before coaxing him out for a short mission with Moegi. They were always easy missions if Shikadai wasn’t there. Inojin didn’t even have to speak all day. Chocho took him out for lunch afterwards, but he didn’t want to eat anything and just stayed pressed right against her side, staring at nothing.

It was once they were back home again that Inojin asked, tentatively, “Did Shikadai leave because of me?”

“What?” Chocho paused, halfway in the fridge, making sure there was something for Inojin to have for dinner later. She closed the fridge, and looked at him carefully. “What do you mean?”

“Shikadai. Left.”

“He’s just in Suna. He didn’t leave you. He’ll be back soon.”

“But he left . . . because of me? Because I,” Inojin hesitated. “Because I freaked out?”

“No,” Chocho approached him slowly. “He didn’t leave because of that. He left because he had things to do in Suna. You did nothing wrong.”

“Did freak out, though,” Inojin muttered, twisting his fingers together. “Got really mad at him. And me. And I hit him.”

Chocho studied him. “He’s not upset. You know that.”

Inojin threw her a brief, slightly desperate look, and Chocho sighed.

“Can I hug you?” she asked, and Inojin nodded slowly.

She gathered him into her arms, holding firmly. Inojin nestled his face into the crook of her neck, relaxing a bit. After being thoroughly squeezed, he tapped his fingers to her side, and Chocho let him go without question.

“Everything between you and Shikadai is fine,” Chocho said firmly. She took the pen off the fridge, and scrawled a note on the bottom of the chart.

Inojin peered over her shoulder to read it.

_You did nothing wrong, and Shikadai is not mad at you._

“It’s on the chart, so you have you listen to it,” Chocho said airily.

Inojin stayed quiet, but he nodded.

“Come,” Chocho held out a hand. “Let’s go out and have some fun. Bring your paints, and we’ll find a nice field and you can paint the flowers there.”

Inojin took her outstretched fingers. “Do we have to talk?”

“No. We can stay quiet all day if you want.” Chocho offered him a reassuring smile. “Whatever you’re happy with.”

He managed a small smile, pointed downwards at the floor. “. . . While I’m painting . . . will you play with my hair?”

Chocho squeezed his fingers lightly. “Yes. And before we start, you can paint something on my wrist, and you can just activate it if you want me to stop. No need for words.”

He shrugged, but the little smile grew wider. “Won’t want you to stop.”

Inojin was quiet over the next few days.

Chocho spent her time fussing over him and messing around the apartment, pointedly rearranging all Shikadai’s clothes in his closet just to annoy him when he returned home, and stocking up the freezer with food.

Inojin spent most of the time curled in his chair, but he watched her as she moved around, and he liked the way she hummed and sometimes sang softly.

After four days of silence, he spoke up softly, “Can we get a pot for the seeds?”

Chocho paused midway through wiping down the kitchen counter. She glanced across the room at him. “What seeds?”

“Shikadai bought me seeds. To grow. Don’t know what they’ll become.”

“Oh. Sure. Do you want to go out now?”

Inojin nodded.

“Okay,” Chocho flung her cloth into the sink. “Let’s go.”

Inojin rose to his feet slowly. He entwined his fingers with Chocho’s, and she led him to the flower shop. Ino wasn’t there, but she had someone else standing in for her, and Chocho chatted idly while Inojin decided what kind of pot he wanted. He eventually picked a long, rectangular one, assuring Chocho it was the right size for the windowsill at the apartment. They grabbed some potting soil as well, and whatever else Inojin said they needed, and wandered home again.

While Chocho cooked dinner, Inojin sat himself on the floor, pushing the coffee table forwards, and carefully shook the soil into the pot. She watched him while he scattered the seeds, after reading the packages, and he commented, “I don’t know what to expect. It just says they’ll be colourful.”

“The surprise will be fun,” Chocho remarked. “Life is better with a little mystery. And not always knowing what’s going to happen can be cool.”

Inojin shrugged, but finished with the seeds, and hefted the pot onto the windowsill. He fussed at the curtains, making sure they didn’t interfere with the sunlight, and by the time he was done Chocho called him to the counter to eat.

“I miss Shikadai,” he said idly, once they were halfway through their meal.

Chocho nodded. “He’ll be home soon.”

“Maybe the flowers will have started growing by then.” Inojin sighed. Life was getting complicated, and he wanted the simplicity of watching something grow. There was always too much going on – training, and missions, and trying to get through the day, and navigate his own emotions. It was difficult, and he was alone through it.

He loved his team, but they didn’t understand. They didn’t feel the same way he did, and they didn’t always know what he was trying to tell them. The world wasn’t made for him, but he was stuck in it, and he was struggling to find ways to live in it.

Maybe flowers would help. It would give him a point of focus, a thing that didn’t change, a thing to enjoy as it grew and developed. Life wasn’t like a flower; it wasn’t easy and predictable. Life was hard.

“You okay?” Chocho asked. “You look a bit sad.”

Inojin shrugged one shoulder. “I just want . . . to be a little less alone. Or have someone else who can talk to me. Like you and Shikadai do.”

“I’m sorry,” Chocho laid a hand gently on his forearm. “I know it’s hard. But Shikadai will be back soon, and Sarada’s learning how to sign for you as fast as she can. Even Boruto is trying. I know you feel alone, and I wish I could change that for you. All I can do is be here, though.”

Inojin nodded slowly. “I know.” He was dwelling over something Shikadai had said, and the thought popped out of him, “Shikadai said he would change the world for me, if he could.”

“He would,” Chocho agreed.

“I don’t think he can.”

“That won’t stop him from trying.” She raised her hand, and tucked a lock of blond behind Inojin’s ear. “He’ll do whatever he can.”

Inojin looked over his shoulder at the flowerpot. He didn’t know what Shikadai wanted to do, but he couldn’t see a way to change the whole world just for him. But, maybe, flowers would be a start.

Whatever they turned out to be, they would make his world a little brighter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now has fanart, thanks to the lovely Majsasaurus (Go read their stories)  
> Fanart can be found here: https://twitter.com/majsasaurus/status/1349985305500278784?s=20

Shikadai went straight to his apartment as soon as he hopped off the train back in Konoha, leaving Temari to make a much more relaxed meander home to Shikamaru.

He was waiting on the couch, and she greeted him with a smile.

“So,” Shikamaru asked. “How did Shikadai’s Jounin application go?”

He looked levelly at Temari, and after a moment of being startled into silence, she grinned. “You knew I’d do it.”

“I did. I disagree with it; I think it’s too much pressure to put on him, but nothing I said was going to stop you.”

“He’s motivated,” Temari pointed out, expression sobering. “Let him do this while he has the drive to.”

“It’s not just about Inojin, though,” Shikamaru said. “Shikadai is going to answer to the village. He thinks being Jounin means he can spend his days picking flowers with Inojin and eating cake with Chocho because he thinks he won’t have to obey Moegi any longer. But what it actually means is that if the village needs something, needs someone for something dangerous, it’s his ass on the line.”

Temari stayed quiet.

“The missions are harder. The sacrifices are greater. It’s more than likely he’ll be pulled away from Inojin, because the village isn’t going to waste a Jounin hanging around with a team who can’t progress beyond C-rank. His best shot at staying close to Inojin was to stay Chuunin as long as he could. Has he thought about that?”

“You talk as though the village is a sperate entity that makes decisions alone,” Temari said. “But you are that controlling force, and you are the one who gets to place Jounin wherever you want. The decision to pull that team apart will be yours, not the Leaf’s.”

“Don’t make this my fault, Tem,” Shikamaru said softly. “I just don’t want him forming an entire life around Inojin, only to find it’s not what he wants. I want him to live for himself, I want him to think about more than his boyfriend. There is a bigger picture to consider.” He sighed. “I want him to be safe and happy. That’s all.”

“Even if the time he spends with Inojin is a mistake, he’s learning from it.”

Shikamaru met her eyes. “What did Suna think of him?”

“He’s a good kid,” Temari said, moving to sit down next to him. “They were impressed. Gaara hasn’t made a decision, but Kankuro thinks he’s ready.”

Shikamaru put his arm around her shoulders. “When will they let us know?”

“Maybe in a few weeks. Will you be upset with him if he makes it?”

“I’ll be damn proud of him,” Shikamaru said, squeezing her shoulders lightly. “Just don’t tell him that. I want him to still think about his life.”

“And you think he’ll just stop trying if he knows you’re pleased with him?” Temari teased. “He won’t. He’s got other things to do.”

“He’s very determined,” Shikamaru mused. “Gets it from you.”

“Good. He needed some of my good traits.”

“He also got your horrible attitude, so, they cancel out,” Shikamaru grinned, and Temari rolled her eyes at him, but didn’t retaliate. They talked idly for the evening, discussing Suna and Shikadai, and whatever the future may bring.

“He’s growing up fast,” Shikamaru murmured. “Faster than I thought he would.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Temari agreed. “One moment he’s complaining about training, and now he’s applying for Jounin, without being prompted.”

“What do you think of that?” Shikamaru asked.

Temari shrugged. “Let him grow.”

Shikadai unlocked the apartment door, and let himself inside. “Hey, Inojin, I’m home-“

There was a flurry of blond hair, and then Inojin flung his arms around Shikadai, hugging him tightly.

Shikadai staggered back a step, breaking into a grin. He returned the embrace, holding Inojin firmly. “I missed you, too.”

Inojin squeezed him hard, face buried against Shikadai’s shoulder. He didn’t say anything, so Shikadai remained standing still and just holding him until he chose to step back.

Inojin stared at Shikadai’s shoulder, fingers twisting together, but he had a little smile on his face. Shyly, he asked, “Kisses?”

“Always,” Shikadai returned the smile, stepping forward to cup Inojin’s cheek in his palm, and press a gentle kiss to his forehead, and then his lips. Inojin pressed back against him eagerly, both hands closing in Shikadai’s shirt and holding on tightly.

“I’m gonna start visiting Suna more often if these are the kind of greetings I get,” Shikadai grinned, moving his hand to brush Inojin’s bangs back.

Inojin backed away from him, still smiling shyly.

“I brought you a present,” Shikadai said, looking quietly pleased with himself. He dropped his backpack onto the counter, and unzipped it.

Inojin crowded close to him.

“Here,” Shikadai pulled something soft-looking from his pack, and held it out.

Inojin took it, eyes widening a bit in wonder at the feel of it. It was a soft rectangle, fleecy and gentle against his skin, with a weight to it that made it feel secure in his hands.

“Beanbag,” he murmured, squishing it between his hands and grinning at the way it felt and sounded – gentle little crunches as the beads moved together, muted by the softness of the fleece around it.

“Yeah, and it can go in the microwave, too,” Shikadai said, sounding smug. “They had ones with flowers on them, but I didn’t know if the pattern would feel weird for you, so I got the blue one instead. I was hoping to get the same colour as your eyes, and,” Shikadai peered at Inojin, “Looks like I was pretty accurate.”

“It’s so soft,” Inojin marvelled, raising the beanbag to his face and rubbing his cheek against it. He stood like that for ages before Shikadai gently prompted him to sit down.

Inojin nestled into his blankets, kneading the beanbag between his fingers in delight.

“Okay, I’m putting a rule in place right now,” Shikadai raised an eyebrow, flopped onto the couch. “The beanbag is not allowed on missions or at training. Otherwise you’re just going to sit around playing with it.”

“Your fault,” Inojin murmured back, in a rare moment of sass.

Shikadai grinned at him. “I don’t mind being blamed for you being happy.”

Shikadai stretched leisurely, then hunted down the TV remote and flicked the device on, flipping through channels. He settled on some kids’ movie, because Inojin liked the bright colours, and tucked a hand behind his head, mind drifting away.

For a long time, Inojin remained where he was, curled happily into his chair with a blanket scrunched up to his chest, and a beanbag on his head, and Shikadai was still smiling and pretending not to watch him out the corner of his eye.

“Changed my medication,” Inojin finally mumbled.

Shikadai raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah, got a new one. Meant to make things feel better.”

“Does it?”

Inojin shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t know yet. Need you here to find out.”

Shikadai nodded, tensing slightly. He wasn’t keen on a repeat of Inojin’s tantrum. He glanced at him, noting how relaxed Inojin looked. “Fair enough. What did you do while I was gone?”

“I planted the seeds.” He gestured vaguely at the window, and Shikadai flicked his eyes there, taking note of the flowerpot. “Chocho and I took a mission with a genin team. It went well. And Sarada took us for a training session. She’s not as quick as you and Chocho with her signals, but I could understand her.”

“That’s good.”

“I slept in your bed.”

Shikadai hadn’t been expecting to hear that. A soft smile curled across his face. “Yeah?”

“Smells like you. And I was lonely. Chocho stayed in my room.” Inojin shifted a bit, one hand wandering up to his head to press his fingers into the beanbag. “Can I sit on the couch with you?”

“Of course.” Shikadai shifted a bit, leaning against the armrest. Inojin wrapped the purple blanket around his shoulders as he got up from his chair, and arranged himself with his legs tucked under him, pressed against Shikadai’s side. He plopped the beanbag onto Shikadai’s chest and nestled his cheek into it. Once Shikadai was certain he was comfortable and settled, he put an arm around the blond’s shoulders, and rested his chin against Inojin’s hair.

“Went to draw the wildflowers,” Inojin murmured, closing his eyes.

Shikadai turned the volume down on the TV. “Did you have fun?”

“Hm,” Inojin nodded slightly. “Even learnt a few more flowers. Found some I hadn’t seen before. They were just scattered around the field. Chocho and I collected them. There’s one that looks like a daffodil, but I know it isn’t.”

Shikadai curled his fingers into Inojin’s hair.

“There are flowers next to your bed,” Inojin added, happy to natter on. “I tried to find one of each of the wildflowers. Don’t know if I did. Might have to go back and look again. Come with me?”

“Sure.”

“And there are a lot of butterflies around. They were everywhere. I think I’m going to learn them all. I need to find a book on them.”

“I’ll take you shopping,” Shikadai said, pleased that Inojin was talking so much. He loved listening to him get excited over small things, like flowers and butterflies.

Inojin chattered on, and Shikadai smiled softly, listening and just enjoying the sound of his voice. He had missed Inojin terribly while in Suna, and it felt so good to be home again.

Shikadai was losing the Shogi game again.

“Are you mad at me?” Shikadai asked.

Shikamaru raised his eyes to stare at his son. “Why would I be mad at you for pursuing your goals?”

“Because you didn’t want me to be Jounin.”

“No. I didn’t want you to become Jounin just for Inojin. There’s a difference.”

Shikadai raised an eyebrow.

“I want you to do it for you. Not for anyone else.” Shikamaru looked down at the board again.

Shikadai stayed silent.

“Right now, as a Chuunin, you’re not accountable for a lot of things. But when you become a Jounin, the stakes are raised. The missions are harder. The decisions are tougher. You might have to make a decision on who in your team gets to live or gets to die, and the thing that worries me is that you’ll always pick Inojin to live, even if it means you’re the one who takes the fall. At the moment, Moegi makes the hard choices. She’s the one who decides what you do and don’t do. All the pressure is on her. When you’re Jounin, that all falls to you. Every choice, no matter how hard, is yours. And I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

Shikadai shrugged slightly. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”

“I know you won’t. But things will change. It’ll be up to you if people return alive or dead. It’ll be on you if anything goes wrong. And I know you’ll put Inojin first, and yourself second. You’ll be a good leader, but we all know that already. What I want is for you to be a good leader because you want to be. Because you want to help people. And help your village. Not just for one person.” Shikamaru looked at him seriously. “The world is bigger than just Inojin.”

Shikadai fell silent then.

“It’s your decision, and I’m not going to stop you. But I want you to think about why you’re doing this, and what it means going forward. That’s all. If you decide you still want to go through with it, I’ll support you.”

After a long moment, face creased in a frown, Shikadai nodded. “I want to. I need to. There are things I need to do.”

Shikamaru gave him a wry half smile. “Okay, then. I won’t stand in the way of anything you need to do.”

Shikadai let out a tense breath, relief flooding him. “Thanks. Because there’s some stuff I’ll need your help on.”

“I’m always here to help,” Shikamaru said.

“Do you know anyone in decryption? I need all my notes checked and verified.”

“Ask for Shiho. Tell her I sent you.” Shikamaru put off his final move, drawing the game out.

Shikadai sent him an exasperated look. “I know I’ve lost. Why toy with me?”

“Why not?” Shikamaru shot his son a smirk. “Then you stay longer.”

“If you want me to stay longer, just tell me. Don’t torture me.” Shikadai frowned at the board, trying to see if there was any way to salvage the match. There wasn’t; Shikamaru never left him openings. Shikadai sighed. “I can’t stay today; I’m meeting my team for lunch.”

“I know. I’ve got to go work after this.”

“So why are you still drawing this out?”

“I only get to play against you once a week. Gotta savour it.”

Shikadai huffed. “Ugh, you’re such a drag. Just finish the game – we can talk until I have to leave.”

“But I like playing Shogi.”

“No, you like teasing people,” Shikadai leant back on his hands. “I’ll beat you one day.”

“I’m waiting for it,” Shikamaru said, smiling gently.

Shikadai fell silent for a while. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You ever want to do something that you don’t know if you’ll be able to do? Like, have a big goal in mind but not any guarantee it’ll work out?”

“Not really. Large, unachievable goals weren’t really my style. Why?” Shikamaru flicked his analytical gaze up to Shikadai. “What are you aiming for?”

Shikadai let out a breath. “An easier life for Inojin.”

“That’s not necessarily up to you. He needs to try as well.”

“I know. But the parts I can do, I want to do. I can do more for him than he can do for himself.”

Shikamaru looked at the Shogi board again. “Why don’t you think you can achieve that?”

“Because it’s bigger than me. I need help from villages, from other people. It’s not something that can be done off my will alone. I don’t know if I can get an entire village behind me, just for one person.”

“Naruto did,” Shikamaru said softly. “It’s been done before.”

“But can I?”

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. “I believe you can. You’re smart, and talented, and awfully stubborn. Not my fault you got like that. But, yes, I think you’ll achieve whatever goals you set out for yourself. That’s just who you are.”

“You really think I can do anything?” Shikadai asked softly.

“I do.” Shikamaru clicked a shogi tile into place. “Except beat me in Shogi.”

Inojin didn’t really like heading into the cultural marketplace in Konoha – it was too bright and busy, and there were too many sounds and smells all at once, and he couldn’t focus properly. But Chocho wanted to stop there on their way to meeting Shikadai for lunch, and he had agreed reluctantly.

“I’ll be quick,” she promised, linking their hands together. “And you don’t have to talk to anyone.”

When they were in crowded places, she always kept hold of his hand, worried he would get overwhelmed and lost and be unable to ask for help. It also meant he didn’t have to focus – she would pull him along, and he could stare at the floor and hum to block out the noises, and if something was really upsetting him, he could tug his fingers from hers and it would gain her undivided attention.

He didn’t usually look around in the marketplace. He preferred to watch the ground, but Chocho had slowed down to wave hello to someone, and he lifted his head to check where they were. There was a small little shop to his right, cluttered with things, and an open fronted jewellery store next to it.

The glass beads glistening in the sunlight caught his attention, and he strayed towards it, coming to a stop when he realized Chocho was still holding him.

He tugged Chocho’s hand, and she turned her head to him. “You okay?”

He pointed at the beads, and Chocho followed his finger.

“The jewellery store? Want to go and look at it?”

He pulled her over to one of the display stands, peering at the rows and rows of different coloured glass bracelets. Some were plain coloured glass, others had swirls of different colours in them. He touched one gently.

It was cool and smooth, and he liked how it felt. Chocho waited patiently for him to inspect all the colours, getting distracted by the sunlight shining off them.

 _I need to paint that_ , he thought absently. Splashes of coloured light, streaks of sunshine. He could see the picture taking place in his mind.

“You want one?” Chocho asked, smiling at how enraptured he looked.

Inojin nodded slowly.

“Which one?” Chocho knew colours felt different to Inojin, and he needed to test each bracelet to see which was most appealing to him. His fingers kept wandering back to the purple one, although he spent ages touching the jade green beads. He dismissed the blue and yellow almost immediately, lingered for a while on the red and white, before finally selecting the purple one.

“This one,” he whispered, barely audible, but Chocho was expecting that. Inojin hated talking in front of strangers.

“Okay,” she agreed. “We’ll get that one.”

Inojin stayed at the display while she paid, still touching the different colours lightly. Chocho tapped his shoulder to get his attention, and he followed her out the shop and back into the street.

“Here,” Chocho handed the packet to him, and he immediately pulled the bracelet out to turn the beads around on their thread. It meant he didn’t have a hand free for Chocho to hold, so she steered him gently by the elbow, well aware that he wasn’t paying any attention to where he was.

The beads were cool and distracting, and the light shimmered off them in fascinating waves. It was beautiful, and he slowed down to study it further.

“Keep walking,” Chocho prompted. “You can take a closer look when we aren’t going to bump into people.”

He glanced up at the crowds, shrinking back slightly. Chocho eased the bracelet out of his hands so she could entwine their fingers. “Focus on me, for now.”

He followed willingly, staring at their hands. They were the only ones holding hands. He wondered, not for the first time, if there was anyone else like him in Konoha. Everyone else around them seemed perfectly normal, seemed able to function without help, seemed to have the world under control.

He bit his lip, thinking hard. Places like this always made him feel different. Places with too many people, with too many distractions, where the world was busy and he was the only one affected by it. He was the only one who couldn’t walk and hold onto beads at the same time.

He edged a bit closer to Chocho.

“There must be others like me,” Inojin whispered to himself. Surely he couldn’t be all alone in the world, surely there was someone else – just one other person – who’s world was just as confused and distracting and heavy? He couldn’t be the only one.

He couldn’t be alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Inojin climbed into bed behind Shikadai in the middle of the night, pressing up close to him.

Shikadai, vaguely awoken by the feeling of another body in his bed, made a pathetic, exhaling groaning noise that Inojin assumed was to check in.

Unsure of how to explain what he wanted and was feeling, Inojin pressed his hand against Shikadai’s back in the symbol for ‘I’m fine’, and Shikadai relaxed again.

Inojin hadn’t been able to sleep. Not while he was thinking so hard, not while he was wondering where the other people were, who were like him. How could he find them, and who were they? Had any of them become shinobi? Maybe they were all around him, but they were better at faking that they were normal, and so he had never noticed them before.

Maybe he really was the only one.

He pressed his forehead firmly between Shikadai’s shoulder blades.

“Need to talk?” Shikadai asked drowsily.

Inojin shook his head. There weren’t any words to say. He was just lost at sea and looking for land. He was feeling alone, and pushing closer and closer to Shikadai wasn’t helping. He closed a hand tightly in Shikadai’s shirt, hoping the grip would ground him.

He was tired of being the only one who was different. The only one struggling. The only one not quite right in the head. He pushed his chakra forwards, easing it into Shikadai’s mind.

Shikadai twitched a bit at the sensation, but stayed quiet.

_Don’t wanna be alone_ , Inojin edged the thought forwards, putting it carefully behind Shikadai’s eyes.

_I’m here_ , Shikadai replied, his words sparking red. It was different from the usual green-grey that he thought in.

_Want others like me_. He watched the thought curl away from him, tapering at the end, almost transparent, but it swept into the vortex of Shikadai’s mind, so Inojin knew he had seen it.

Shikadai shifted onto his back, and Inojin lost his focus and snapped back into his own mind, instantly ducking his face down to hide in Shikadai’s ribs. Shikadai sighed. “If that’s what you want, then we’ll do it. We’ll look. But Inojin,” he moved onto his other side, facing Inojin. “You’re not alone.”

It was a risk, putting hands on Inojin without asking, but Shikadai dared to anyway, laying his palm across Inojin’s cheek, just softly, so he could pull away if he wanted. “You’re not alone. I’m here, and Chocho’s here. But whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“I just want people who understand me,” Inojin whispered thinly. “I just want people who are different like me. Just to know there are some.”

“Okay,” Shikadai said. “We’ll find them.”

“How?”

“We’ll ask around. We’ll talk to people. We’ll let people know that we want to help others like you.”

Inojin felt the happy feeling flare up again, but it was slightly muted. He cocked his head slightly, analyzing it.

“What?” Shikadai asked.

“Hm,” Inojin paused to think. “Feels different.”

“What does?”

“The happy feeling. The love feeling.”

“Does it feel better?” Tentatively, Shikadai ran his fingers through Inojin’s hair.

“Doesn’t burn as much,” Inojin explained. “Feels a bit more like water and a bit less like fire.”

That description didn’t make much sense to Shikadai, but if it made Inojin feel better, he wasn’t going to question it. “Good. I’m glad it helps.”

Inojin snuggled up a bit closer, hiding his face against Shikadai’s chest. It was a common tactic he used when he didn’t want to look at anyone, and wanted to feel secure and protected.

“Go to sleep,” Shikadai whispered. “We can worry about the world in the morning.”

Inojin hummed under his breath, just letting Shikadai know he had heard. He wasn’t tired, but he was satisfied with where he was, tucked up close to Shikadai. He felt Shikadai fall asleep easily, then twisted his fingers in Shikadai’s shirt, pulling a bit, distracting himself with it.

His mind was churning, though, working through questions that had no answers.

_Why am I different? Am I the only one? Where are the others? How do I find them?_

He sighed, nuzzling into Shikadai’s chest. He didn’t know how to find those answers.

But he knew who to ask.

Inojin was helping in the flower shop the next day.

He spent a while arranging flowers in silence, deep in thought, trying to find the words he needed. Eventually, he edged up to the counter, keeping his eyes on the window.

“Mom,” Inojin said. “How did . . . how did you and Sakura set up the children’s hospital?”

Ino looked up from wiping the counter clean. “Oh. Well, after the war, a lot of children ended up minus one or both parents. There weren’t places for them to go. And since both Sasuke and Naruto, on Sakura’s team, had grown up largely without parents, I guess it was a bit of a sore point for her. We asked around, got some help and support, and managed to find the space and funding for the hospital. Why do you ask?”

“Is . . . is there room in that hospital for things like . . .” He trailed off, unsure how to express his ideas. He took a moment to think and organize his thoughts, then tried again, “Would there be space to have rooms for people like me? For them to stay if they wanted, or for us to help them? Like show them what you and Dad did for me, and what Shikadai and Chocho do for me, and just . . . Just help?”

Ino leant an elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand. She studied her son shrewdly. He was chewing on his lower lip, eyes fixed firmly on the window. “You’d like to open a special wing in the hospital for people like you?”

“Different,” he explained.

“People who are different?”

He nodded. “Can . . . if I could find other people like me, could we help them too?”

Ino smiled. “We can always try. We can talk to the hospital board and see what they think. We’d just need to think a little harder about what exactly we would do to help. And what we need.”

“I can help,” he said quietly. “I could work there some days. After missions.” He squirmed uncomfortably in place, unsure of what to do with the excitement he was feeling. It was unsettling and tingly, and he didn’t like it, but he pushed through it anyway to murmur, “I want to help.”

“Okay,” Ino said patiently. “Then tell me how this sounds – I’ll talk to Sakura tomorrow, and we’ll schedule a meeting with the hospital board, and you can come and talk to them.”

His stomach tightened at the idea. “C-c-can I bring Shikadai?”

“You can bring as many people as you like.”

He nodded, looking down, and remaining silent.

Ino let him stay quiet, and moved off to check a few arrangements of flowers, giving him some space to think his way through their conversation. He stayed silent until Shikadai arrived late in the afternoon, and then he seemed to come to life again.

Shikadai barely greeted Ino before Inojin was standing in front of him, “Shikadai!”

“Yep?” Shikadai raised an eyebrow.

Inojin sent Ino a glance, just a very quick look out the corner of his eye, then faced Shikadai, and, deciding talking was too much effort when he was excited, began to sign swiftly.

Ino stopped what she was doing to watch them.

It surprised Ino to see how fluently and how easily Inojin could communicate now. He was bouncing slightly on his toes, clearly excited, looking at the floor and remaining completely silent, yet his hands were moving at a rapid rate through signs and signals.

And Shikadai just stood patiently, watching him, hands shoved in his pockets and a wry smile on his face. He nodded every now and then, but didn’t interrupt, and when Inojin’s signs slowed down, Shikadai chuckled. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”

Inojin grinned at the floor.

“And,” Shikadai added. “I have somewhere to be as well. You can come with me, if you want.”

Inojin flicked one hand forwards, and Ino guessed that was a ‘where’ or a ‘what’. She needed to learn their signals. Especially if Inojin was using that to speak when overwhelmed.

“I’m meeting Iruka at the Academy tomorrow,” Shikadai said, throwing a self-satisfied smile towards Ino. “We’re talking about getting the hand signals standardized so everyone will learn them.”

“He’s going to change the ninja system?” Ino blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Not officially,” Shikadai cautioned. “I’m just proposing that it gets done. Nothing is set in stone. Iruka can always say no.”

“What if he says yes?” Inojin asked in a soft voice.

Shikadai looked at him, and reached out a hand to entwine their fingers. “Then every ninja following us will be able to understand you the way I do.”

Inojin grinned at their interlocked hands, chin tipping down to his chest.

Ino couldn’t help but think, while smiling softly at them, _No one will ever understand him as well as you do._

The seeds were beginning to sprout.

Inojin peered into the pot, enthralled by the dozens of little green shoots. “Shikadai! Growing!”

There was a grumbly noise from Shikadai’s bedroom. He hadn’t bothered to get up yet – their only task for the day was meeting Iruka at midday – and he wasn’t going to leap out of bed just to see stationary flowers.

“Shikadai!” Inojin called again.

“I know what baby flowers look like!” Shikadai shouted back. “It’s not worth getting up for.”

Inojin touched the little stalks carefully. They were soft and pliable, and delightfully rubbery. He brushed his fingers back and forth over them. It was like a more welcoming version of grass. The feeling lingered, and he stared at his fingertips. It felt like the green was staying on him, even though his skin was its regular pale colour.

He wandered to Shikadai’s bed, and touched his fingers to the exposed skin of Shikadai’s forehead, the only part visible from beneath the blankets. “Feel.”

“Feels like your fingers,” Shikadai grumbled.

“It’s the green.”

“I can’t feel colours like you can.”

“But it’s green,” Inojin insisted. He clambered over Shikadai, snuggling into his back. “It’s green like the way you think.”

Shikadai made another grumbly noise.

“Look,” Inojin said, carefully pushing his chakra into Shikadai’s mind. The swirling vortex of thoughts didn’t derail him as easily these days. He could focus enough to find a thought. He plucked a rapidly snapping and weaving green one from a tornado of ideas, and held it still. “It’s like this.”

“Baby flowers are like my attempts to beat my father at Shogi?”

No wonder Inojin hadn’t understood the thought. He let it go, and the hurricanes of Shikadai’s mind snapped it back up again. “Same colour.”

“Okay,” Shikadai agreed. “Good to know.”

Inojin lay on his back, fingers twisting together. He stared at the ceiling. “What do you think the flowers will become?”

“Dunno.”

“I want lots of colours.”

“Hm.”

“I can paint them, once they grow.” He tried to guess. Maybe daisies, maybe peonies, maybe poppies, maybe asters. The possibilities were endless, the potential huge. The flowers could be anything. They could be something predictable; they could be something completely unexpected. They could be familiar; they could be things he had never seen before.

And each one could be different to the next, and they would all grow together and learn to live together.

“We’re like flowers,” Inojin mused, and Shikadai groaned.

“You’re chatty this morning.”

“Is that bad?” Inojin tipped his head to stare at Shikadai’s back.

“No. Keep talking.”

Inojin sat up. He was feeling bubbly and happy, and he wanted to chase the feeling further. He leaned over Shikadai. “Kisses?”

That, finally, encouraged Shikadai to pull his blankets down enough to make doubtful eye contact for a second. “It’s the middle of the night, Inojin.”

“It’s like . . . eight thirty . . .” Inojin leaned down further. It was an awkward angle, with Shikadai half-submerged in his pillow, and Inojin perpendicular to his face, but Shikadai shifted enough to press his lips briefly to Inojin’s forehead, before snaking a hand free to cup his cheek and pull him into place for a proper kiss.

Inojin sat up after a second, grinning.

Shikadai rolled over, both arms coming around Inojin and pulling him down to his chest. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But it’s late,” Inojin protested.

Shikadai silenced him with another kiss, eyes staying closed, and mumbled, “I’m not letting you go until I have to, so go to sleep.”

“When do you have to?” Inojin enquired.

“When we need to go meet Iruka,” Shikadai replied drowsily. “Or when you get uncomfortable.”

Inojin settled against Shikadai’s chest. He ran his fingers down Shikadai’s nose, still imaging the green on them. Shikadai didn’t open his eyes, and that made Inojin bold enough to lean down, kiss him gently, and murmur, “I’m comfortable.”

“Good,” Shikadai replied, one hand tangling into blond hair. Another kiss, and Inojin felt a little bubble of laughter burst from him. “So am I.”


	12. Chapter 12

Once Chocho heard that Shikadai was meeting with Iruka, she bounded along with them.

The three of them faced Iruka in his office, and he smiled warmly at them.

“It’s good to see you all looking well. How are you doing, Inojin?”

Inojin kept his eyes down, but he answered easily, “I’m okay.”

“He’s doing very well,” Shikadai said. “We’ve put a system in place for him during missions to make sure he can always understand us. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Go ahead,” Iruka said, sitting back in his chair.

“Things would have been so much easier for him if there had been alternate ways of communicating right through the Academy.” Shikadai glanced at Inojin, who was turning the beaded bracelet over in his hands. He liked to feel it, but hated wearing it, claiming it was heavy and made his arm feel funny. “And ways for other people to talk to him. He’s limited on missions because once the pressure is on he can’t always focus.”

Iruka nodded. “Yes, I know. Shino had expressed worry that Inojin wasn’t keeping up with his peers. But you are, aren’t you?” Iruka turned his proud smile to Inojin.

“Yes, but it was hard,” Shikadai argued. “And it didn’t need to be. We have a code already, but it’s not taught.”

“Which code?”

“Konoha’s hand signals. They are not standardized teachings in the Academy,” Shikadai said. “Why not?”

“We hardly ever use it,” Iruka explained. “It’s mostly for Anbu level missions, and even then, they are trained in it when they join.”

“It was easy to adapt to a more user-friendly system, and pretty simple to learn. I’ve documented all the changes I’ve made, and encrypted the notes, and I wanted to talk to you about getting it taught to all potential shinobi.”

Iruka nodded. “That’s not a small request, Shikadai.”

“But you can see why it would be helpful?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Then put it into the syllabus. There must be people other than Inojin who could benefit from it. Even if there aren’t, an additional communication channel for missions has no downside. An additional skill for every shinobi is a bonus.” Shikadai lifted his chin slightly. “It might save lives, and it might make things safer.”

“It’s not just up to me,” Iruka explained. “Since it’s you proposing the idea, I assume you’ve already thought it through and fixed any potential problems.”

“We’ve been using it on missions for years,” Shikadai said. “It’s completely functional.”

“Alright then. The next step would be to get your code officially checked and verified by decryption-“

“Already in progress,” Shikadai put in, and Iruka shook his head fondly.

“Of course. Then let me know as soon as it is verified. I’ll organize an official panel for you to present to. That’ll be the education board, head of Anbu, head of Jounin, and anyone else who’s opinion on the matter would be important. Talk to them, and they can vote about if we put your system into place.”

“Thank you,” Shikadai sounded relieved. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“I know you will. I wish you the best of luck, Shikadai,” Iruka nodded. “And you too, Inojin.”

Inojin nodded at the floor, but said nothing. When Shikadai was finished talking, he prompted Inojin to follow him with a quick sign, and Inojin left the room, eyes still on the bracelet.

“I think that went well,” Chocho said.

“Yeah,” Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets, and they strolled through the Academy halls. “But now I have a whole speech to plan. My notes are already with decryption getting verified, so I’ll spend some time there making sure there aren’t any problems. Inojin,” he said, waiting until Inojin glanced in his direction. “I have a task for you as well.”

“What is it?” He handed the bracelet to Chocho, who slipped it onto her wrist.

“I need you and Chocho to take a practice mission without Moegi, but with Sarada.” Shikadai kept a careful, sideways look at Inojin. “She’s learning our signals, and I want to see if you’re able to listen to her.”

“Will you be there?” Inojin asked.

“No. That’s the point – I want to be certain you’re safe with anyone.”

“When?” Chocho asked.

“I told Sarada anytime next week. She said she’d organize for a training field and would put something together. If it goes well, I’ll make sure she gets an official mission. Can you handle that?”

Inojin shrugged. “Sounds fine.”

Shikadai nodded shortly. “Great. Chocho, what do you have going on today? I’ve got more work to get done, so I’ll only be home late.”

“I can watch Inojin,” Chocho assured, linking their hands together. He smiled softly at her, then reached his other hand towards Shikadai.

“Yeah?” Shikadai asked, wondering if Inojin wanted something.

Inojin twined their fingers, saying absently, “You’re working a lot.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’ll . . .” Shikadai sighed. “It’ll slow down once we get all this stuff in motion. But I need to get the signing system in place for you, and there’s a ton of people to talk to about it.”

Inojin stayed quiet for a while. They had left the Academy and were nearly home before he tugged at Shikadai’s hand, and murmured, “Are you working so hard just for me, or for you as well?”

“Huh?” Shikadai’s stride faltered a bit.

Inojin kept his eyes down. “You wouldn’t have to work so hard if there wasn’t something wrong with me . . .”

Chocho stopped with a sigh. “Oh, Inojin, you know there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Inojin,” Shikadai began, before pausing to think. He mused for a few seconds, and Inojin wondered what colours were flashing through his mind. Shikadai tried again, “Look, there’s a lot of reasons I’m trying to do this. I promised I’d change the world for you, if I could, and I know it’s a dumb promise and out of my reach, but I’m still going to try.”

Inojin nodded, eyes fixed on their joined hands, to let Shikadai know he was listening.

“And this could help other people. It might help many people. But mostly, I want it to help you. No one is making me do this, no one is forcing me to put in the work to try to change the way we talk to each other.”

Inojin shrugged a shoulder, but he was focusing hard on what Shikadai said.

“I’m not doing it because I want you to change, or because it’s hard to deal with you. I’m doing it because I’m sick of the world acting like there’s something wrong with you – there isn’t,” Shikadai insisted, voice rising with passion. “Nothing is wrong with you, and never has been. All I want is the world to see that you’re perfectly normal, and they shouldn’t treat you differently. They should also be trying harder, and doing better to help you. We make allowances for other people, but not for you. I want to make you a world where you don’t feel different, where it’s normal for people to treat you the way you’re comfortable with. That’s all.”

Inojin’s gaze flicked from their hands to Shikadai’s eyes, and back down again.

“I want everyone to be able to talk to you in a way you can understand,” Shikadai continued. “I want you to be safe no matter where you are, where I don’t have to worry that you can’t let anyone know if you need help. I want you to be able to take missions with anyone, and not have to worry that you’ll get left behind or won’t hear what they’re saying, because they’ll talk to you the way you need to be spoken to.”

Shikadai took a step closer. “That’s all I want. For you to be happy and safe. And not only with me. It’s your world too, and you should be able to be comfortable in it, around anyone.”

Inojin tightened his grip on Shikadai’s hand, puzzling through his emotions. The happy feeling was surging, but not out of control, tampered down by his new medication so it felt manageable and tolerable. It meant he didn’t need to pull away, and get some space, and it meant his skin didn’t crawl or feel tingly when he stepped to push his face into Shikadai’s chest and muffle a few ragged breaths against his jacket.

“You okay?” Shikadai asked carefully, waiting for Inojin to embrace him first before returning the gesture, arms wrapping securely around him.

Inojin nodded shakily, unsure of how to explain what he was feeling. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was all-encompassing, taking over his whole body, because Shikadai was doing so much for him, _just for him_ , even though it meant hours of extra work and a lot of additional research and coding, and so many other things Shikadai would call a drag.

But all for Inojin. Just for Inojin.

He dug his fingers into Shikadai’s back, holding tight, and flinched slightly when he felt Chocho place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

None of them said anything, until Inojin felt he had enough self-control to let Shikadai go, and take a step back. He twisted his fingers together uncertainly. He wished he could look at Shikadai’s face and see what expression was there, but he felt like that might be pushing his limits.

Instead, he took in a deep breath, forced his hands apart, and sought out Shikadai’s fingers again.

“Home,” he requested simply.

He heard Shikadai chuckle a bit. As they began walking, Shikadai said quietly, “Should I take a hug off this week’s list, then?”

Inojin shook his head. “No. I want more.”

Chocho had promised to make soup for Inojin, and Shikadai had happily given her free range of their little kitchen, if it meant he didn’t have to cook.

He sat on one side of the kitchen counter while she worked, finishing a few emails and reports, and Inojin was lying flat on the floor, arms spread out, the beanbag across his forehead.

“He hasn’t moved in a while,” Chocho observed, half an eye on Inojin while she chopped vegetables.

“He’s fine,” Shikadai said dismissively.

“Put a beanbag on his head and he goes into a coma?” Chocho raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Basically, yes,” Shikadai grinned. “Easier than wrapping him in shadows all the time. At least I can save my chakra. He’s fine, trust me. He’s just chilling.”

“Can hear you,” Inojin said drowsily.

“You just haven’t moved and I was worried,” Chocho said, a bit louder.

“Happy,” Inojin replied. “Feels nice.”

“Okay, then,” she turned away to dump the vegetables into the pot. “You need to get up soon, though.”

“He won’t get up until you take the beanbag off him,” Shikadai replied, looking unconcerned.

Chocho huffed. “That’s all it takes to calm him down? Really?”

“Apparently so,” Shikadai never looked away from his screen.

“Inojin,” Chocho said, stirring the pot. “How are your flowers doing?”

“Starting to grow,” Inojin replied softly. “Little bits of green everywhere.”

“Huh,” Shikadai sat up a bit straighter suddenly, expression falling into surprise as he blinked at his computer.

“What?” Chocho asked, coming immediately to peer at his laptop.

“Iruka’s putting a panel together for me to present to on Friday. That’s soon.” Shikadai let out a breath. “Guess I’ll be spending the next few days in decryption making sure everything is going smoothly there.”

“Who is on the panel?” Chocho asked.

“Iruka, and a few other Academy board members. Some special Jounin. Head of Jounin, and Head of Anbu.” He sank down in his seat again. “That’s a drag . . . that’s a lot of important people . . .”

“You’ll be fine,” Chocho said confidently. “It’s for Inojin – you’d do anything for him, and all you have to do anyway is convince everyone it’ll be a good idea for the whole village to learn Konoha’s signs. How hard can that be?”

“Probably not hard,” Shikadai muttered. “It just feels a bit daunting.”

“We can go out on Friday night to celebrate,” Chocho said. “It’ll be great. All our friends can come.”

“Might not have anything to celebrate. I might screw up the proposal.” Shikadai sighed. “Ugh, I’m not looking forward to this.”

“You can’t back out now,” Chocho returned to the stove to stir the soup again. “Your world-changing escapade is underway.”

“Yeah,” Shikadai sighed again. “That does mean that I need to talk to Sarada – Inojin, you listening?”

“Hm,” Inojin hummed vaguely.

“You’re Sarada’s problem this week – she’s going to take all morning missions and training sessions. Chocho will be with you for all of it.” Shikadai leant his chin into his palm. “I hope she knows enough to lead a mission with him.”

“She’s been practicing signing when she’s with me,” Chocho assured. “She’ll do fine. And I can help her if she needs it.”

Inojin lifted up a hand, and Shikadai turned his attention to him.

“Yeah?”

“Will it just be me and Chocho and Sarada?”

“I dunno,” Shikadai shrugged. “She might have Boruto with her. Maybe a few genin. Depends what she’s doing. Why?”

“Don’t like people,” Inojin explained plainly.

“I know. But life is full of people.”

“Might need more hugs,” Inojin added. “To feel better.”

Shikadai eyed him. “Since when do you manipulate people?”

Inojin grinned at the ceiling, beckoning with his hands. Shikadai rolled his eyes, but he stepped off his seat, and went to kneel down next to Inojin.

“Get up; how am I meant to hug you when you’re flat on the floor?”

“You’re a genius, figure it out,” Chocho called.

“Come here,” Shikadai tugged at Inojin’s arm, pulling him up and twisting him around so his back was to Shikadai’s chest. Inojin snuggled into his warmth immediately, and Shikadai took the beanbag that had been displaced in their repositioning, and plopped it over Inojin’s eyes. It had the immediate effect of Inojin sinking lower, becoming completely still.

“Think he’ll fall asleep like that?” Chocho asked, leaning over the counter to stare at them.

Shikadai ran a hand through Inojin’s hair, smiling at the happy sounding hum it elicited. “Hope not. I’m not very comfortable.”

“Well, soup’ll be ready in like ten minutes,” Chocho said. “So you won’t have to sit like that for long.”

Shikadai’s hand stilled, just resting on Inojin’s hair. He sent Chocho a glance, and signed with one hand, ‘Look after him this week.’

She gave him a soft smile in return. ‘He’ll be safe with me.’

Inojin shifted a fraction again Shikadai, and mumbled, “I know you’re talking about me.”

“What do you think we’re saying?” Shikadai asked.

“Hm, dunno. Better be good stuff.” Inojin fumbled until one of his hands caught Shikadai’s fingers.

“We always say good stuff about you,” Chocho assured.

“Mostly,” Shikadai said lightly. “Sometimes we complain about being uncomfortable on the floor with you leaning on us.”

Inojin huffed out a little laugh. “I’m happy here.”

Shikadai squeezed his fingers. “Then I won’t ask you to move.”

Since Shikadai was spending the day in decryption, Inojin had chosen to visit his parents for the afternoon. Ino had a lot of flower arrangements to do, and she had seated Inojin on one side of the counter with notes on what was needed, while she stood a little to his side and worked on other bouquets.

Inojin was largely silent, but he was humming under his breath, and smiling at the flowers while he worked, and so Ino knew he was happy. Silence was never a problem for him, so she resisted the urge to try to draw him into conversation, and let him remain as he was.

She studied him carefully out the corner of her eye. He was looking happy and healthy, still pale and slim, but there was a bright spark in his eyes, and his movements were quick and sure. She could see his lips moving as he mouthed the names of every flower he touched. And she knew Shikadai kept track of his medication, so he must be taking it, and seemed happy enough.

That was all she had ever wanted for him – to just be happy. Happy, and safe.

Inojin let the time pass by without words, and Ino did her best to remain quiet. Time spent together was enough for him, even if they didn’t speak, so she kept her thoughts to herself for once. She was starting to learn Shikadai’s signs, and knew all the standard Konoha ones herself, and she was interested to see that Inojin flashed his fingers into signs and symbols absently while he worked, forming words and phrases without even being aware of it.

It was a new behaviour, and she assumed he used it to replace muttering to himself. She found herself keeping half an eye on his hands while he worked, trying to catch what he was saying.

Mostly flowers, and colours, but she caught Shikadai’s name a few times, and he tended to repeat things. She smiled down at the flowers. For some reason, it was endearing that the stutter carried over to his signed sentences as well.

She heard Sai before Inojin did, and tapped her fingers onto the counter close to him to get his attention, so he wouldn’t be startled at Sai’s appearance, since he had absorbed himself into his flower arranging and all outside sounds had been blocked out.

Sai came into the flower shop, catching sight of Inojin and smiling genuinely. “Hello, Inojin.”

Inojin smiled at the countertop.

“I’m glad you’re here. I have some interesting news for you.” Sai came to stand at Inojin’s side.

“Oh?” Ino leaned in, intrigued.

Inojin waited patiently, head turned very slightly to catch sight of Sai out the corner of his eye.

“I found someone for your hospital,” Sai said. “There’s a child in another village. He can’t speak. He’s been writing things down, but while I was there I taught him a few of Shikadai’s signals. I’m waiting for the Hokage to approve citizenship, and then his family has agreed that he can come and stay here for a few months, and learn to speak again.”

Inojin stared at Sai in open wonderment. “You . . . found someone like that? And . . . and Shikadai can teach him?”

“I thought you might want to teach him,” Sai offered. “After all, you’ll understand him better.”

Inojin fell silent. “What if I . . . what if I can’t talk to him either?”

“Then you do exactly what I do for you,” Ino said, smiling softly, and reaching out to brush his bangs back. “You ask him if he would like you to look into his head, and see what he’s trying to say, and you put his thoughts in order so you can both understand them.”

“Think I can?” he asked softly.

Sai laid a hand on his shoulder. “We know you can.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally reached my favourite chapter! (That took weeks to write because I got stuck a few times . . . I still like it, though.)

Shikadai had visited his parents in the morning, stopping by for breakfast before getting on with a long day of planning his speech to the Academy board. He had carefully avoided the subject while they were eating, but now, sitting back in his chair and realizing he was going to have to bring it up, he took in a deep breath.

“Uh, remember how I changed Konoha’s Anbu signs for Inojin?”

“Yes?” Shikamaru perked up, interested.

“Well, I talked to Iruka about getting it put into the shinobi training. He agreed it was a good idea.”

“That’s a big step,” Shikamaru said, and Temari nodded, watching him shrewdly.

“So I’m meeting with a panel on Friday to discuss my plans and decide their viability. If that goes well, it’ll be put to the Hokage, and that will decide if it becomes a national standard or not,” Shikadai hesitated. “Will you both be there? To watch me?”

“Of course,” Shikamaru nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“If that goes well, then we have the official meeting with the hospital board – Ino’s already spoken to them and technically got us space – and then we can legally take on as many kids as Inojin wants. Sai’s already found a few. None quite like Inojin, but I know there must be others.” Shikadai trailed off.

“Lots of work for you,” Temari mused. “When are you fitting in regular missions?”

“I’m splitting them fifty/fifty with Moegi until I’ve either heard back about Jounin from Suna, or the signing system is in place and I can hand it over to some else. A couple of people in decryption have said they’d enjoy teaching it. Shino-sensei is already learning it.”

“It’s a big task. I’m impressed you’re taking it on.”

Shikadai shrugged awkwardly. “Then Inojin has a whole country that can understand him, and I’ll have done something useful for him, and also, I’m sorry.”

“What?” Shikamaru raised his head slightly. “What are you sorry for?”

“Because I’m going to be the first Nara ever who’s a disappointment,” Shikadai muttered.

“What makes you think that?” Shikamaru asked, with a frown. He and Temari exchanged looks.

“Because literally all I’m meant to do in life is be good at being a ninja, and have a kid to pass on the bloodline. And I don’t know if I can. And instead I’m trying to make the world a bit easier for Inojin, and focusing on changing systems rather than my shinobi skills.” He hesitated. “I know you don’t like me and Inojin being in a relationship . . . That you’re hoping it’s something that’ll just blow over and I’ll find a girl and-“

“Stop right there,” Shikamaru said.

Shikadai fell silent.

Shikamaru heaved a sigh. “Okay, that’s on me. I haven’t communicated very well with you. Shikadai,” he laced his fingers together thoughtfully. “You are not, and never have been, a disappointment. In fact, I’m incredibly proud of everything you’ve achieved so far. You’re making a visible difference in the world – that’s not something to take lightly. I don’t have a problem with you and Inojin together. That’s just . . . that’s just stuff from my childhood, and I’ll get over that. Some traditions might die out, others may take their place. That’s for me to deal with, and if I ever made you feel like I disapproved of you, I’m sorry.”

Shikadai swallowed, but didn’t say anything.

“All I really need is for you to be happy. If that’s with Inojin, then,” Shikamaru shook his head helplessly. “Then that’s that. But never for a second doubt that I’m supporting you one hundred percent with whatever path you choose in life.”

“Even though . . . even though I’m meant to continue on with the Ino-Shika-Cho legacy?” That thought had been niggling at the back of Shikadai’s mind for years.

Shikamaru looked at him seriously. “Not all legacies are people. Maybe yours will be changing the shinobi world so anyone can be a part of it. Even people who are different, like Inojin. The point of a legacy is to make a difference, and to be remembered.”

Shikadai nodded cautiously.

“You are making a difference. And shinobi who make a difference are always remembered.”

“Alright,” Shikadai said eventually, not looking away from the TV. “You’ve been staring at me all day. What is it?”

Inojin flinched in place, and sank a bit lower in his fortress of blankets. “. . . Nothing.”

Shikadai didn’t press him further. He focused on his game. They had spent the day indoors, relaxed and dressed casually, with neither of them having any work to do.

After long minutes, Inojin said softly, “I feel better now. The happy feeling doesn’t make me feel bad anymore.”

“That’s good.” Shikadai knew there was more. He waited patiently. He could hear Inojin kneading his beanbag, and it made a smile spread across his face.

Eventually, Inojin asked, “Remember when I said I wanted to know what your skin felt like?”

“Hard to forget something like that,” Shikadai remarked. “Yeah. A few weeks ago.”

“Can we try now?”

“Can we . . . what?” Shikadai resisted the instinctive urge to turn his head and stare. He kept his eyes focused forwards on the TV. “Not sure I’m understanding you.”

Inojin bit his lower lip, carefully planning out his words. After a long, tense silence, he tried to clarify, “I wanna try touch you with . . . with less clothes on.”

“Oh.” Shikadai tried not to sound too shocked. Talking was good, he reminded himself. Talking was important. No matter how weird or awkward it got, talking was good. He swallowed. “Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

Shikadai let out a tense breath. He was still playing his game, fingers moving automatically on the controller, but he slowed down, laid it in his lap, and pondered Inojin’s question. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was just . . . he didn’t want to do it wrong. He didn’t want to do something that upset Inojin, he didn’t want to push him too far, he didn’t want him to shut down or panic.

Thus far, all their physical exploration had been done with clothes on.

“Inojin,” he began slowly. “If we do, and you don’t like it, or stop being comfortable, you tell me immediately, okay? Don’t wait.”

Inojin sat up a bit straighter. “That’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes if you promise me you’ll tell me if we have to stop.”

“Okay,” Inojin nodded. “I promise.”

“When last did you take your meds?”

“With breakfast.”

Shikadai did a quick mental calculation in his head. “Okay. So it’ll still be working.”

“I’ll be fine. And you always say I need to push myself and test my limits.”

“As a shinobi,” Shikadai pointed out, but Inojin’s boldness was encouraging. He saved his game, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He reached forwards and put the controller down on the coffee table, still not looking at Inojin. “If you’re sure, we can try.”

“I’m sure.” It was a quick answer.

Shikadai nodded to himself. He wasn’t sure what to say. So instead, he stood up, and offered a hand to Inojin. Inojin grasped his fingers, rising from his chair with the emerald blanket clutched under his arm. He followed Shikadai willingly into his bedroom.

Shikadai took his hand back to close the door.

He didn’t know what it was that made him close the door – it was just the two of them – but he did it anyway, feeling a bit more secure with the decision. He stared at the handle for a few minutes, taking measured breaths, wondering a bit at what they were doing.

It felt new and unnerving, but not unwelcome. He took in a last, steadying breath, and turned to face Inojin.

Inojin had already placed himself on the bed, his blanket bunched up to his chest, watching Shikadai’s hands.

“How do you want to do this?” Shikadai asked, working to keep a nervous crack from his voice.

Inojin stared at him, wide eyed and silent. Shikadai could see his gaze tracking from his shoulder, down his arm, lingering on his hands, looking for signals. Shikadai came to stand next to the bed, swallowing nervously.

For a moment, they both remained still. Then Inojin shifted onto his knees, let the blanket fall from his arms, and hesitantly clutched his fingers in the hem of Shikadai’s shirt. He paused there, waiting, and when Shikadai gave no protest, Inojin tugged the shirt upwards.

Shikadai helped peel it off, dropping it uncaringly on the floor, and then stood undecided.

Inojin settled back on his heels, finally raising his head enough to look Shikadai in the eye. It was only for a few seconds, but considerably longer than usual, and it made Shikadai feel like there was a sudden, significant weight to what they were doing. He let out a tense breath. “You doing okay?”

Inojin nodded, looking down again. He edged back a bit, fingers fumbling with the bottom of his own shirt. “Should I also . . .?”

“Whatever you want,” Shikadai said. “Whatever you’re happy with.”

There was another long pause. Inojin stared at the blanket crumpled at his knees, and Shikadai waited for him to ground himself and find his thoughts.

Tentatively, Inojin tightened his grip, fingers creasing into the fabric, and very slowly pulled his shirt up and over his head. The silence was deafening, but neither felt confident enough to break it just yet. Inojin tossed the shirt behind him, and stared at Shikadai’s chest. His breathing was quick.

He closed one hand in the blanket, knuckles white as he gripped. They both stayed still and uncertain, until Inojin raised his other hand, fingertips ghosting across Shikadai’s collarbone, over the curve of his shoulder, tracing gently down his upper arm. He closed his hand around Shikadai’s forearm, tugged gently, and Shikadai took the hint, climbing onto the bed as well.

Inojin and the blanket shuffled back to give him space, but he didn’t let go.

Slowly and deliberately, Shikadai lay down on his side, one hand under his head, the other held between them, still in Inojin’s grip.

Inojin let him go, and mirrored his position, the blanket bunching half under him and half between them. It was soft against his stomach; a strange, new sensation.

“This okay?” Shikadai whispered.

Inojin nodded, eyes tracking over the lines of his body. Carefully, he raised his hand and laid it flat on the centre of Shikadai’s chest.

“You have more muscle than me,” Inojin murmured, the tips of his fingers digging lightly into Shikadai’s flesh.

“I work out a lot more than you,” Shikadai replied ruefully. He kept his eyes on Inojin’s face, just watching for any flickering expressions or clues to what he was thinking.

Inojin dragged his hand down the centre of Shikadai’s chest, frowning at the way his muscles contracted and jumped under his touch. His eyes flicked up to Shikadai’s for a second, then back down again, hand finally coming to a stop in the middle of Shikadai’s stomach.

“You’re warm,” Inojin added softly.

Shikadai didn’t know what he was supposed to say in reply to that, so he stayed quiet. He watched Inojin’s eyes dart back and forth. When Inojin began sliding his fingers along the lines of muscle on Shikadai’s abdomen, eyes widening at the way his skin tightened, Shikadai let out a tense breath.

“Tickles,” he said as explanation, and Inojin hesitated. “Don’t need to stop. Just wanted you to know.”

“What colour does it feel like?” Inojin asked, and Shikadai had to sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“I feel yellow,” Inojin provided, and he said it so surely that Shikadai assumed it was a good thing.

He raised his arm slowly, giving Inojin plenty of time to see and object to the movement, before laying it across Inojin’s waist. Inojin’s fingers halted their path for a moment, then continued unhindered.

“You’re warm too,” Shikadai murmured, and that had Inojin’s cheeks flaring pink.

He ducked his head, breath catching for a moment. Shikadai saw him swallow hard, then edge closer, hiding his face against Shikadai’s chest. It stirred a sort of strange protective warmth within him, and Shikadai wanted to tug Inojin closer.

Their silence was long, but not uncomfortable. Inojin’s breathing calmed, he shifted the hand against Shikadai’s stomach upwards, to tuck a loose fist under his chin, the back of his hand to Shikadai’s chest.

“Can we sleep like this?” Inojin mumbled.

“Yeah,” Shikadai said breathlessly. “Sure.”

It was strange, feeling Inojin’s breath against his bare skin. He was nestled in close, wispy hair brushing against Shikadai’s chest. Shikadai kept the arm draped across his waist very still, not wanting to startle him with sudden movements.

Inojin pressed his head forwards, and to Shikadai’s surprise, placed a brief kiss on the centre of his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Shikadai whispered.

Inojin pressed another kiss to Shikadai’s skin. “Happy.”

“Not too much?”

“Bit too much,” Inojin admitted. “But it doesn’t feel like it used to. Doesn’t feel like I need to get away from it.”

Shikadai moved the arm across Inojin’s waist, hand reaching gently upwards to thread through Inojin’s hair. “Good. If you need space, you can just move away, remember? You don’t need to say anything.”

“I know,” Inojin mumbled, edging as close as he could. His breath was warm. “But I’m happy right here.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not entirely sure when we went from ‘parenting a special needs child’ to ‘accessibility within the ninja community’, but here we are.

Shikadai’s meeting with the Academy board and several special Jounin had garnered quite an audience. Even Naruto had made his way down to watch, staying half hidden in the doorway, since if things went well at Shikadai’s presentation, the Hokage was the next step up, and he was curious as to what Shikadai had planned.

Shikadai looked calmly confident in himself, standing before the board, chin up.

Iruka, sitting behind the long table in the centre of the line of people, gave Shikadai an encouraging smile, which he returned stiffly.

Inojin and Chocho sat in the front row behind him, with Inojin fidgeting with Chocho’s bracelet, feeling slightly singled out. Temari and Shikamaru had selected to sit at the back, not wanting to distract Shikadai. Shikamaru had specifically asked not to be put on the board, although Sai, as head of the Anbu, was there.

There were a lot of other people wedged into the room, interested in how things worked out. Ino stayed in the doorway with Naruto, knowing she was a distraction to Inojin, while Moegi and several of her friends had taken up chairs inside, and most of Shikadai’s former classmates were hanging around as well.

“Alright, Shikadai, let’s get down to business,” Iruka said briskly. “You asked for a discussion on adding Konoha’s standard sign language – that I understand you’ve modified slightly – to the Academy syllabus so all shinobi in the future will learn it?”

“Yes,” Shikadai confirmed. “There’s more than one way to communicate, and all Academy students should be taught as much. The shinobi syllabus has been trimmed down in recent years, due to peace times and a lessening need for skilled shinobi, and adding in the hand signals gives more people an opportunity to not only be shinobi but to excel in it in ways they never thought they could. Our time of peace is meant to create opportunities for people, to give them new paths in lives, to gift our children with things we could never have. We are a new breed, the peace time children, and everyone should be given the chance to be whatever they want to be.”

Shikamaru leant over to Temari, whispering, “Our son’s a gay activist.”

There was, however, no mistaking the pride in his voice.

Temari whispered back, smiling broadly, “We could have done a lot worse.”

“Why do you think we need it now, when we haven’t before?” Iruka asked.

Shikadai drew in a deep breath. “Maybe we have needed it. Maybe we didn’t know we did.” He glanced briefly at Inojin, who sunk down further in his seat, fingers clenched around Chocho’s wrist. “I have a teammate who would benefit from this system being in place. He’s using it now, and it’s helped him immensely, and allowed him to further his career as a shinobi. He’s just one person – but how many people before him were dismissed as untalented or declared unfit to be shinobi when they just needed a different way to do things? Everyone counts, and every opportunity should be given.”

“Have you found any other people who need extra help, like Inojin?” one of the other Jounin asked gently.

“We have a wing established in the children’s hospital doing exactly that,” Shikadai replied. “If you need a report on it, I can give you one. But my point gets proven – we don’t allow people like Inojin a chance. We dismiss them, or ignore them, when they have potential and they have enough to offer on a team.”

“Such as?” another asked.

“Inojin’s a mind reader,” Shikadai pointed out. “He’s well suited to intelligence gathering and surveillance. But none of that means a thing if he can’t tell anyone what he’s seen. Furthermore, a silent communication system can be invaluable in an infiltration mission. There are many times where being silent would benefit a mission. Anbu knows – they use this system.”

Sai nodded, and Shikadai hoped he would say something encouraging. But Sai stayed quiet, apparently leaving Shikadai to figure this out alone.

“Every shinobi counts, so why discount a whole group of people with potential?” Shikadai asked, and that coaxed a very genuine smile from Sai, so Shikadai assumed his pitch was doing okay.

He was careful not to glance back at Inojin, who he knew was squirming in his seat. He caught the motion out the corner of his eye, and as he answered another question, as coolly and confidently as he could, he saw Chocho take the bracelet from her wrist and give it to Inojin.

The blond settled a bit then, fidgeting the beads between both hands, and Shikadai felt a fraction of his own tension relax.

“How long does it take to learn a system like this?” Sai asked.

“So far most people seem to get the basics – common words and phrases – in a few weeks, and it doesn’t take much longer than that to become proficient. Both Chocho and I have taught a few other people, just meeting up when we can for sessions, and they haven’t found it difficult to learn.”

“Your sensei has been using it with your team on missions, hasn’t she?” a Jounin asked.

“Yes, Moegi learnt it at the same time as Inojin and Chocho,” Shikadai nodded. “And she can confirm that it’s a simple system to get used to.”

“Well, it all sounds good,” Iruka said. “I haven’t managed to find any disadvantages yet. Are there any difficulties you’ve identified?”

“Just efficiency issues,” Shikadai shrugged. “But I worked all those out and streamlined everything. It should be flawless, and decryption hasn’t found any problems either.”

“Once our panel has read over and discussed your proposition, we can let you know our decision,” Iruka said. “I can tell you right now that I’m in favour, but that’s an unofficial vote. However, I think you can rest assured that this will be implemented into the ninja syllabus.”

“I don’t want this only added into the ninja syllabus,” Shikadai said, voice staying steady. “I want this in every education system we have. No matter what you’ve studied, or where, everyone should know this. Everyone should be able to communicate like this.”

“To get approval for that you need more than the Hokage,” Iruka said gently. “You also need the daimyo backing you.”

Shikadai’s mouth twisted into a self-satisfied smile, and he took an envelope from his pocket and slapped it triumphantly onto the table. “Done.”

Iruka stared at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ve already spoken to the daimyo.” Shikadai straightened his posture. “That’s his letter stating he agrees with me, and will work towards implementing these changes into the education system for next year.”

Temari chuckled. “That’s what he’s been doing.”

“What?” Shikamaru whispered.

Temari kept her voice low, not wanting to distract Shikadai. “I see the Wind daimyo a lot. His daughter is dating the Fire daimyo’s son. Shikadai first made friends with the Wind daimyo’s daughter, then got her connections with the Fire daimyo to get his name known.”

“Then he finally got to introduce himself to the daimyo on that mission,” Shikamaru realized. “And that’s when he could show off Inojin.”

“Exactly. He’s been planning this for a while.”

“He insisted on that mission because he knew he needed the opportunity to introduce himself.” Shikamaru chuckled. “How many angles has he considered this from?”

“All of them, I suppose,” Temari replied. “He’s our son, after all.”

“There’s no way Iruka can turn him down,” Shikamaru tried not to smile too wide. “Not when he’s put this much thought into it.”

“He’s still asking to change the entire way we teach,” Temari pointed out. “This isn’t a small favour. This is a fundamental change in our systems.”

“The world has gone through a lot of changes,” Shikamaru replied in a low voice. “Why not one more? And why not Shikadai leading it?”

Iruka was still smiling at Shikadai, almost glowing with pride. “Shikadai, once the panel has approved this, it’ll be put forward to Konoha’s council, and the Hokage, and daimyo. Are you prepared for that?”

“Yes,” Shikadai replied. “I’m ready. I can do it.”

“Before we conclude,” Iruka added. “I just need to see that this system definitely works.”

“No problem,” Shikadai shrugged. “Think about whatever you had for dinner last night.”

Shikadai raised a hand to catch Inojin’s attention, and, without taking his eyes off Iruka, signed quickly, ‘Please read Iruka’s mind and tell me what he had for dinner last night.’ Then he stood still, waited patiently, with the room in complete silence.

A hesitant thought flickered to the front of his mind, and Shikadai said confidently, “You had miso ramen.”

A broad smile blossomed across Iruka’s face. He nodded. “I did.”

“I also have mission records of Inojin on three separate missions and training exercises responding to commands from someone other than myself. I was not present on any of those occasions. All missions were listed as successes, and led by Uchiha Sarada.”

He took a step back, appraising each member of the panel. “This system works, and it’s got a lot of advantages to it. Konoha needs this.”

“We will discuss it further in private,” Iruka said. “And we’ll get back to you with an answer by the end of the week.”

Shikadai nodded once. “Thank you for your time.”

“It was a pleasure,” Iruka assured. He glanced at the rest of the panel. “Any other questions or objections?”

Shikadai threw a nervous look at Sai, but he was still smiling genuinely. It eased a fraction of the tension in Shikadai’s shoulders.

“Alright, then. This meeting is over,” Iruka stood up. “Good luck, Shikadai.”

“I’ll wait for your response,” he said, voice shaking just slightly.

The panel dispersed, and Shikadai turned away, meeting Chocho and Inojin’s eyes briefly.

He made his way to the back of the room, eyes on his parents. Before he could reach them, Chocho flung herself at him, crushing him in a sudden, affectionate hug.

“You were awesome!” she exclaimed.

Shikadai pried his way out of her arms, grinning. “Yeah, I think it went well.”

Inojin sidled up to him, and Shikadai put an arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Shikadai said. “I know I’ve pushed you lately with things I’ve needed. But I think it was worth it.”

Inojin laid his head on Shikadai’s shoulder, smiling happily.

Shikamaru and Temari approached them, and Shikadai raised his head proudly.

“Nice job,” Shikamaru said. “I think Naruto will have a hard time turning you down.”

“He can’t turn that down,” Chocho claimed. “Come on, Shikadai’s thought of _everything_.”

“You did well, kid,” Temari agreed. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“It’s not confirmed yet,” Shikadai said cautiously. “Let’s not get excited.”

“I’m getting excited,” Chocho replied.

“By the way,” Shikamaru said, and Shikadai looked at him, frowning slightly. “The Hokage’s office received an email from the Kazekage today.”

“Yeah?” Shikadai waited. Inojin and Chocho listening attentively.

Shikamaru smiled at him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Congrats on making Jounin.”


	15. Chapter 15

Shikadai received his response within two days – Konoha approved.

All Academy students moving forwards, and all other education systems within the Fire country, would include learning the sign language as mandatory. All Jounin who were unversed in it would be taught as well.

“I signed up to teach,” Moegi grinned at him. “Figured I might as well. Even though you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since we met.”

Shikadai chuckled, “Well . . . I guess I’m sorry for being so difficult.”

“Hey, no worries,” she punched him affectionately in the shoulder. “You were just doing right by your friend.”

He looked around the Hokage building. Everyone was continuing with their day as normal, as though the world had not fundamentally changed. As though everything Shikadai had been working towards hadn’t just become a concrete reality.

It was weird, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

“You’re on your own, now, kid,” Moegi added. “Jounin and ready for the real world.”

“Yeah,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “. . . Thanks for teaching me.”

“I’m not abandoning you. If you need help, with anything, you can come and find me and we’ll figure it out.”

Shikadai nodded. “I will.”

“Besides, I’ve gotten quite fond of you kids. Don’t be strangers.”

“Will you take on another genin team?” Shikadai asked, beginning to stroll from the building.

Moegi matched his pace. “Most likely. Teaching is fun.”

“But you’ve still got Chocho and Inojin,” Shikadai pointed out. “They’re not Jounin. So it’s just . . . just me splitting off from the team.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Moegi said lightly. “You Ino-Shika-Cho are tricky to break up.”

She smiled at him. “I guess I could invite you along on a few missions while you’re still figuring out how to be a decent Jounin.”

“Good,” he shook his head. “Because I want my team.”

“Maybe,” she teased. “Maybe I’ll let you have them back.”

There was something magical about watching the three of them together.

Shikadai had not once looked up from his decryption notes, but he had one arm propped on the side of the couch, and would periodically signal to Inojin and Chocho with one hand. Not a word passed between them, but Inojin would smile at Shikadai’s gestures, and Chocho would hand him things at intervals, and Ino felt like she was seeing the new Ino-Shika-Cho in a way that no one had seen before.

They worked together as seamlessly as any team, communicated as efficiently as the most polished and experienced teams, had absolute faith in each other.

It was more than she had ever thought possible, and she didn’t want to break the silence.

Chocho signalled something under Inojin’s nose, and he giggled, prompting a small smirk from Shikadai. They were all gathered in her living room, crowded in to celebrate Shikadai’s promotion, and the success of the Academy board agreeing to Shikadai’s syllabus changes.

Ino was staying out their way while they settled things, while Shikadai finished up the very last of his notes, and Inojin doodled idly, and Chocho tapped away on her phone. Every few minutes Inojin would reach to Chocho’s wrist, drag his fingers across the purple bracelet, tug at it, then return to drawing. Chocho kept her arm still while he fiddled.

It wasn’t at all what Ino had expected out of the next generation. She hadn’t expected them to settle into their own niche roles so easily. She had always expected the same things that had been expected of her, Chouji and Shikamaru.

It occurred to her that she had been underestimating them from the start – always assuming Inojin would handicap the teams’ potential, and his teammates would stay at his level. It hadn’t occurred to her that Shikadai and Chocho would raise him up to remain equal to them.

Ino hovered in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt their silence. It felt the same as breaking into a conversation, and, she reminded herself, it was. They were talking the whole time, sometimes with brief, one-handed signals, sometimes with both hands, and it wasn’t just the quick, purposeful phrases Shikadai had come up when he was twelve.

This was a language, one she felt underprepared for. She needed to learn it, because she didn’t know enough of it right now.

“Hey,” she finally said, getting Chocho and Shikadai to look up at her, and Inojin to sign a quick ‘Yes’. “So, I’ve got some news about the hospital.”

That made Shikadai frown a bit, and shift his notes aside. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is great,” she looked at each one in turn, heart swelling with pride for all they had achieved. “The hospital agrees that there needs to be a section dedicated to children who are struggling. They’ve given us a wing, where we can have treatment sessions, and some rooms that will be modified so kids can stay in them if needed. And,” she added lightly, “We’ve already got four of them booked.”

Inojin’s head snapped up. “You found people like me?”

“Not exactly like you. Not just yet,” Ino said. “But I’m sure we will. Now,” she added, and Inojin squirmed eagerly in place. “Will you be available a few days a week to help teach these kids how to talk? I’ve already got five shinobi from decryption who have volunteered. But I think it’ll be nice for these kids to have someone just like them around as well.”

Inojin nodded rapidly. “Yes,” he said breathlessly. “I want to help.”

“I’ve spoken to Moegi already,” Ino admitted. “And she’s changed your schedule so you can help out. We’ll give it a few sessions and see how you manage.”

“We’ll update the chart,” Shikadai said, relaxing in his seat once more. “Everything’s official if it’s on the chart.”

Inojin sent him a swift grin of agreement.

“I can join him a few times, as well,” Chocho put in. “So he won’t be on his own.”

Ino sent her a grateful look. “Thank you.”

Shikadai looked quietly pleased, and Ino thought he should be.

“Shikadai,” she said, and he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Thank you, as well.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“You have,” she insisted. “I know you wanted to just make sure the world was a better place for Inojin. But it’s going to affect a lot more people. You’re making more of a difference than you think.”

He shrugged dismissively, which didn’t surprise Ino. Shikadai often baulked at receiving accolades, trying to downplay anything he did. He wasn’t in it for the recognition. It was one of the things she found most endearing about him.

“Since I have all three of you here,” she added, “I just wanted to say how proud I am of you. The future of your generation has always been a bit hazy, and a point of worry for me. But I can see now that there’s nothing to worry about. All three of you will be just fine, and you’re a fantastic team.”

She smiled fondly. “I don’t have to stress as much anymore.”

Shikadai looked away, cheeks flushing pink.

Ino was feeling more relaxed about Inojin than she had in years. Shikadai was a good leader, paving the way for Inojin. Inojin was secure in himself, happy with his life, and able to pursue his goals and dreams. And Chocho was looking out for both her boys, keeping them in line, making sure they were well taken care off.

They were a different team to previous generations, for sure, but no less capable for it.

Ino was immensely proud of her legacy, and keen to see what theirs would be.

Now that Inojin had figured he could get more physical contact with Shikadai, he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

Shikadai didn’t mind, and Inojin only did it at home, where he was relaxed and confident, and it was becoming normal for Shikadai to cook or reheat whatever Chocho had made them while having Inojin standing against his back with his fingers sneaking beneath Shikadai’s shirt and pressing into his hips or the firm muscles of his abdomen.

Currently, Shikadai was lying on the couch, absently holding his gaming controller and doing his best to beat the level he had been stuck on all week, with his shirt pushed up to his armpits, and Inojin lying between him and back of the couch, tracing patterns onto Shikadai’s skin.

Every now and then, Inojin leaned in to press a gentle kiss to Shikadai’s neck or cheek, and he seemed to like doing so when Shikadai was focused on things other than him. Inojin hated being the centre of attention, and this new compromise seemed to be working.

“Where’s this from?” Inojin murmured, running his fingers along a thin, pale scar across Shikadai’s ribs.

“Shinki,” Shikadai replied casually. “Didn’t dodge in time.”

“It feels different,” Inojin said, retracing the same path up Shikadai’s skin. If he pressed harder, the muscle beneath his fingers dipped at the pressure, and there was a pleasant drag to it, and Shikadai’s bones felt firm underneath.

“One day,” Inojin murmured into Shikadai’s shoulder. “Will we ever do more than this?”

“I dunno,” Shikadai shrugged, frowning at his game.

“Do you want to?”

“Maybe. Maybe, some day. But it’s not like we _have to_ or anything.”

Inojin hummed softly. “I want to.”

“We can talk about it in the future.”

“I feel good now,” Inojin continued, fingers now travelling along the ridges of Shikadai’s stomach. “I can be close to you like this and it doesn’t burn.”

“I’m glad to hear that, but it doesn’t mean you need to feel pressured into doing more with me. You don’t. We don’t have to do anything. We can take it slow. We can keep things as they are. I don’t expect more from you. Okay?”

“I know,” Inojin nuzzled closer. “But I think I want to. Even though . . . even though I’m not normal . . .?”

Shikadai glanced at Inojin. “You’re perfect, Inojin.”

“No, I mean . . . I mean I can only be close like this because of my new medication . . . is that okay?”

“Whatever helps you is okay.”

Inojin made a frustrated noise. “I mean . . . Hold on, let me show you.” He gathered his focus, fingers stilling, and collected a few thoughts to push into Shikadai’s mind. They were bright orange and had been glowing in his head for a while. He dropped them into the rapids of Shikadai’s mind, watching them get snapped up by the green and grey.

_I feel like what we have isn’t real because I only have it since I’m on medication. That this isn’t what I can do or who I am. It’s not me, it’s something that’s been put inside me._

Shikadai’s face didn’t change. He tapped away at his game for a minute, mulling in silence. Then, he let out a sigh. “Inojin, are you listening to me?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Then listen carefully. Whatever medication you need doesn’t change who you are. It just helps you. It helps you form thoughts or feel things that you should be able to feel, but your body doesn’t feel on its own. Not because something is wrong with who you are, but because sometimes people have bits missing. And we can fill those bits in.”

Inojin cocked his head to the side slightly.

“Sarada wears glasses, because her body didn’t make her eyes perfect. Wearing glasses doesn’t change who she is. It just helps her with something she should be able to do, but can’t. Gai-sensei can’t walk, so he’s got a wheelchair to help him. Because his body isn’t able to do everything it should anymore, so he has something to help him. It’s the same with you,” Shikadai continued. “Your body doesn’t make all the chemicals, or whatever shit’s going on in your head, that lets people cuddle or kiss or whatever. So we fill that bit in. Get it?”

When Inojin stayed quiet, Shikadai glanced at him. “Taking medication doesn’t change who you are or make you worse than you are. It completes you. It fills in the parts of you that need a little extra help. It’s not defeat.” He tossed the controller casually onto the coffee table and shifted around to lightly grasp Inojin’s chin between his fingers, holding him still. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just _you_. It’s letting you experience the world the way you’re meant to. It’s _helping_.”

“But we couldn’t do this without it,” Inojin murmured. He kept his eyes on Shikadai’s lips, avoiding eye contact. “We couldn’t touch each other before.”

“Then how is it a bad thing?” Shikadai asked, with a tender smile. “I love being close to you like this. And I love that you’re comfortable with it. How is something that makes us both happy a problem? How can you think it’s not a wonderful thing?”

Inojin shrugged, still uncertain, but lacking the ability to verbalize it.

“We’re gone through a lot of different ideas to find what works for you,” Shikadai added. “Blankets, and shadows, and two-second-long hugs. And all that helped, and now we have something that helps even more. It’s a good thing, Inojin. And I don’t think any less of you for it. Got it?”

Inojin squirmed a bit, wriggling until he could rest his chin against Shikadai’s ribs, and tap absent patterns on his abdomen. He stayed quiet for a few minutes, then asked quietly, “So it’s okay?”

“It’s definitely okay,” Shikadai confirmed.

“And . . . this is all okay?” He dragged his fingers across Shikadai’s skin with a bit more purpose.

“Yeah,” Shikadai gave him a crooked grin. “It’s okay.”

“And this?” Inojin shifted to press his lips briefly to Shikadai’s side.

“Yeah.” Shikadai reached for his game controller again. “Now let me finish this level.”

Inojin placed another gentle kiss on Shikadai’s side, before moving to add a kiss to his neck.

Shikadai grumbled a bit. “You’re gonna make me lose the game.”

Inojin wasn’t particularly worried about that, but he stayed still, closing his eyes and breathing Shikadai in. It was soothing, and he was grateful that Shikadai was so good as staying still for long periods of time, because Inojin didn’t want to move.

He nuzzled in close, smiling against Shikadai’s skin, and feeling so very warm and safe.


	16. Chapter 16

Ino was allowing Inojin to walk home alone from the hospital, as long as he promised to send her a message when he was home safe, and he had to only follow the path they had decided on, and not wander off and get distracted. After spending time with other people, teaching and talking, Ino worried he would run out of focus and be more inclined to wander off unthinkingly.

Inojin didn’t think he would get lost, but he resolved to do what she asked anyway, because walking home on his own was normal, and normal people did it, and he was excited to try. Usually someone walked with him, to keep him focused.

He kept his eyes down, watching the street, quietly repeating to himself _pay attention, pay attention_. He had worked hard today, gently talking to the boy Sai had found, matching signs to objects and actions, and it had been rewarding but exhausting. But already, the boy seemed to be grasping the signs and volunteering them.

The thought made Inojin smile, and he walked a bit faster, keen to get home and tell Shikadai about his day.

“Watch out!” A voice broke into his thoughts, but it was too sudden for him to make out the words as more than an abrupt noise, and he jerked his head up just in time to bump into someone.

He made a violent jump to the side, hands coming nervously together, hyper aware of where their shoulders had touched, and suddenly immensely uncomfortable at contact with a stranger, however brief it had been.

He shifted in place.

“Hey,” the voice belonged to a girl, and Inojin squirmed a bit, uncertain now of what to do. Talking to strangers was never easy. And he was used to having Shikadai or Chocho there to help him. The girl was holding an even younger child by the hand. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

Inojin couldn’t answer, and he shrugged apologetically.

“Sorry,” she said again. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, keeping his eyes down on the ground. The girl leant down a bit, trying to catch his eye, and he jerked his head away.

“Sorry. I just wanted to check you were okay.”

He nodded again, taking a step back and twisting his fingers together nervously.

“We’re heading towards the children’s hospital,” she continued. “Do you know the way?”

Hesitantly, Inojin pointed down the street. There were other directions, but he felt tongue tied and unsettled.

“Thank you,” she said. She turned away from him, taking one step away, before seeming to stop to think of something. She returned to his side, “Um . . .”

Instead of further questions, she let the other child’s hand go and somewhat shakily formed the hand sign for ‘thank you’.

Inojin whipped his head up, surprised at the gesture. He stared at her hands, blinking. After a hesitant moment, he signed back, ‘You’re welcome’.

Her face relaxed into a smile. “Ah, that’s better.”

She explained more, “My sister is deaf, and we’ve been learning the new Konoha hand signs. They said the hospital here could help us even more. Do you speak with signs?”

He nodded.

“I’m not very good at it yet. But if I see you around again, maybe we can talk?”

He formed an uncertain ‘okay’.

“What’s your name?”

“Inojin,” he whispered. He still didn’t know what she looked like. He hadn’t been brave enough to look at her face.

“It’s nice to meet you, Inojin. Well, have a good day. Bye!” She waved, and he managed to do the same, before staying rooted to his spot as she walked away.

It took him a few minutes to recover and gather up his thoughts, and by then his hands were shaking and he was feeling an odd mixture of excitement and nervousness at the whole interaction.

But she had talked to him.

In a way he could understand.

Just like Shikadai had promised.

Inojin hurried the rest of the way home, blocking out all distractions, almost running to the apartment.

His hands were still shaking when he burst into their apartment, and his sudden entrance startled Shikadai off the couch.

“Inojin!” Shikadai took swift steps towards him. “Are you okay?”

Instead of saying anything, Inojin flung his arms around Shikadai, hugging him tightly, muffling a delighted squeak in the front of Shikadai’s shirt. Shikadai stroked a hand through Inojin’s hair, looking down at him, concerned.

After a moment, Inojin let out a big sigh, and released Shikadai. He shuffled back a step, fingers twisting together.

“Someone spoke to me today,” Inojin whispered, still awed by the entire interaction. “W-with their hands.”

“Really?” Shikadai lifted his head a bit, a slow grin stretching across his features. “That’s cool.”

Inojin nodded his agreement, fingers still twisting together. He flinched a bit when Shikadai laid a hand on his shoulder, having not seen the gesture coming.

“Told you that we’d teach people to talk to you the right way,” Shikadai said.

“Yeah,” Inojin said breathlessly. “I . . . didn’t think it would happen . . .”

Shikadai chuckled. “Me neither. But I guess it wasn’t a goal that was too far out of my reach after all.”

Inojin shrugged his shoulder free, still smiling, and wandered over to the window to check on his flowers. They were beginning to form little buds, tiny green balls at the end of each stem, and Inojin was eagerly awaiting to see what colours emerged.

“Can we go out tonight . . . find Chocho and tell her about it? About someone talking to me?”

“Sure,” Shikadai said, staying a safe distance from Inojin, recognizing that he was teetering on the cusp of being overwhelmed. “I’ll send her a message. But you need to calm down before we can go anywhere.”

Inojin made an agreeable humming noise. He ran his fingers across the tops of the flower stems. He shifted to his chair, and Shikadai plucked the beanbag off the back of the chair and draped it over Inojin’s head. Inojin looked up at him for a few seconds, the excitement muting slightly. He raised his hands to the beanbag, kneading it lightly, pushing it firmer against his head.

“Now settle down for a while, and then we can go out. Any preferences?” Shikadai asked, plopping onto the couch.

“Burgers,” Inojin murmured.

“Cool.”

“Someone spoke to me,” Inojin repeated, voice still marvelled. “And I understood them.”

Shikadai’s lips twitched as he fought down a broad smile, flicking through channels on the TV.

“I feel like the wildflowers,” Inojin murmured. “Lots colours.”

Shikadai nodded.

Inojin was calming, though, settling more comfortably in his chair, leaving the beanbag on his head. “Can I show you?”

“Show me what?” Shikadai asked.

“All the colours.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” He selected a random channel, and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. After a short pause, he could feel Inojin easing chakra into him, morphing his thoughts around, dripping dashes of bright colour into his mind.

They swirled together, at first being drowned out by his thoughts, then Inojin gained control and confidence and the inside of Shikadai’s mind bloomed into a kaleidoscope of clear cut, shining sparks of brightness.

He sent Inojin a fond look, and Inojin was watching him, grinning back at him, and slowly letting the colours in his mind grow.

Shikadai was gaming when there was a knock at the door. He frowned, wondering who it was.

Inojin was at the hospital again, eagerly teaching, and wasn’t expected home for a few hours.

Shikadai paused his game, and went to open the door.

To his surprise, Shikamaru was standing there.

“Dad? Everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Shikamaru assured. “I had something to tell you, and was in the neighbourhood, so I thought I’d just stop by.”

“Okay?” Shikadai moved back from the door, pushing it closed after Shikamaru entered. He raised an eyebrow. “Am I in trouble?”

“Why do you assume that?” Shikamaru peered into the kitchen.

“Because it’s weird for you to come here.”

Shikamaru studied the chart on the fridge. There was a line of flowers scribbled along the bottom, along with Chocho’s flowy handwriting stating ‘Cookies on Sunday evening so be home in time!’

“I was told everything on the chart was official,” Shikamaru said, and Shikadai rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, whatever. If it’s on the chart, it’s official.”

“Good to know.” Shikamaru took the pen attached to the fridge and scribbled something down.

Shikadai eyed him. “What did you do?”

Shikamaru shrugged casually. “Mostly wished paperwork was this simple in the office.”

Shikadai pushed to the fridge, curious. “What did you write?”

“Nothing much,” Shikamaru patted his son’s shoulder as he went past, towards the door. “Your mother says family dinner’s on Friday and you have to be there.”

Shikadai didn’t hear him. He was too busy staring at the chart.

_Shikadai – The Ino-Shika-Cho team is yours. You’re it’s official Jounin. Look after your team._

“Wait,” Shikadai said slowly. “Hold on. Mine? It’s . . . mine?”

“Moegi says you can ask her any questions you have,” Shikamaru nodded. “But you’re taking over from her. All the missions, all the decisions. It’s on you now. You wanted the control. Show me that you’re ready for it.”

Shikadai gaped at him. He blinked a few times, trying to realign his thoughts. Eventually, he snapped his mouth shut. “Oh.”

Shikamaru chuckled. “It was Moegi’s idea. She thinks you’re ready. I just filed the paperwork.”

“Thank you,” Shikadai said, finally recovering some sense.

“That’s your legacy,” Shikamaru continued. “Take care of it.”

“I will,” Shikadai replied, still reeling slightly. “I . . . thanks.”

Shikamaru nodded shortly, and opened the door. “See you on Friday.”

“Yeah . . .” Shikadai wasn’t sure what else to say. He closed the door after Shikamaru left, and went to stare at the chart a bit more.

_My team_ , he thought warmly. _All mine._

He didn’t have to defer to anyone else anyone. He didn’t have to argue about what was best for Inojin. He didn’t have to check in with anyone, or get plans approved by anyone.

Now he was free to let Inojin blossom and learn, and to push when needed and to hold back when needed.

Piece by piece, his world was falling into place.

Chocho nearly broke Shikadai’s ribs in a massive, excited hug when she found out he was officially the head of their team, crowing enthusiastically, “You did it!”

“Put me down!” Shikadai wheezed, straining against her embrace.

Chocho released him, and he dropped back to the floor and sucked in air gratefully.

“I’m so proud of you!” she gushed. “Should we start calling you sensei?”

“Don’t you dare,” Shikadai muttered. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothing changes. Just means I don’t have to double check every decision with someone else.”

“Whatever you say, sensei,” Chocho winked at him, and he rolled his eyes.

Inojin hovered nearby, fingers twisting together, smiling at their exchange.

“Are you happy?” Chocho asked him, and he nodded shyly.

Ever since hearing that Shikadai would be in charge of all their missions, of their team, ensuring they would stay together, there had been a little coil of excitement low in Inojin’s belly. It was very present, but not overwhelming.

“And it’s not too much for you?” Chocho asked. “You feel okay with it?”

“I know it’s there,” Inojin said slowly. “But it’s not so bad . . . It’s been there for a while but it doesn’t make me feel bad.”

“And do you want a hug, too?” she offered, opening her arms.

Inojin nodded, grinning at the floor, and darted into her arms. Chocho squeezed him tight, and he muffled a laugh against her shoulder. He tapped her side to be released, and he backed away with a contented sigh.

“Are you staying?” Shikadai asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Chocho shook her head. “Just popped by to drop off food for Inojin, and to hear your good news. I’m on my way out for a girls’ night.”

“Cool. And thanks for supper,” Shikadai grinned crookedly at her.

“Lazy bastard,” she teased. “I think I’ve cooked in this apartment more than you have.”

“Yeah, you have, and let’s keep it that way.”

She huffed at him. “One day I’m only going to bring enough food for Inojin, and then you’ll have to do your own cooking.”

“You’ll never do that,” Shikadai said confidently. “You’re an Akimichi. You’re hardwired to feed everyone.”

She gave him a fond smile. “I guess. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Inojin, how do you want to say goodbye?”

“Hug,” he said instantly, diving back into her arms.

She squished him briefly, and gave Shikadai a casual salute. “See you tomorrow, sensei.”

“You are such a drag,” he rolled his eyes.

She grinned at him, waving over her shoulder as she turned to leave the apartment.

Shikadai sighed. “She’s going to call me that just to annoy me, isn’t she?”

“You two like annoying each other,” Inojin said. He headed for the windowsill, keen to check on how his flowers were doing. It was becoming a new habit, to check the flowerpot whenever he was in the room. Before settling into his chair, he always detoured to the window.

Shikadai followed him more slowly, mentally ticking off tasks for the week.

“The flowers are growing,” Inojin said, peering down at the soil. “Look at all the colours!”

A lot of the long green stems were topped with tight little balls of curled up petals, in various bright shades.

“I wonder what they are,” Shikadai mused, glancing over Inojin’s shoulder.

“Could be anything,” Inojin whispered. “Could be flowers we’ve never seen before.”

He touched the tip of his finger to some tightly coiled petals. “Whatever they are,” he murmured, “They can just grow.”

He put his elbows on the windowsill and rested his chin in his palms, just staring at the flowers. Shikadai ran his hand through Inojin’s hair as he walked away. “I’m sure they’ll be beautiful.”

Inojin stayed where he was. After a while, he murmured, unsure if Shikadai could hear him, “There are purple and red ones, like Chocho’s thoughts. And blue and white ones. Everyone’s thoughts are here.”

Inojin moved to touch the purple buds, smiling at the sensation. “Shikadai?”

“Yeah?” Shikadai called back from the kitchen.

“Can I show you what I’m thinking?”

“Go ahead.”

He kept his fingertips on the flowers, frowning and concentrating hard to reach across the apartment all the way into Shikadai’s mind.

The whipping thoughts were grey, mixed together with just a few swirls of green, and it made Inojin think of forests in heavy mist. He tried to stay focused, taking a prominent lilac thought from his mind and dropping it into Shikadai’s. The grey snapped it up, and Inojin was jolted out of Shikadai’s mind, left feeling slightly breathless. He chewed on his lower lip, staring at the flowers, waiting to hear what Shikadai would say.

He heard Shikadai come back to him, lean lightly over him and murmur into his ear, “Is that really what you’re thinking about now?”

Inojin nodded, and the happy feeling bloomed deep inside him again and he couldn’t help a breathy little squeak from escaping him. He could feel Shikadai’s breath, and it made him shiver.

“Alright,” Shikadai said, and Inojin squeaked again. “Come on, let’s go lie down-“

Inojin spun around, leaning his forehead into Shikadai’s chest. His fingers grappled for purchase on Shikadai’s jacket, tugging him close, and when Shikadai didn’t object to it, Inojin slid one hand up his chest, grasped the zipper and gently pulled it down. It seemed exceedingly loud in the quiet of the room, until Shikadai’s voice, amused, broke the silence, “You thought bedroom; this is the lounge.”

“You didn’t stop me,” he pushed Shikadai’s jacket off his shoulders and it fell to the floor with a definitive sounding splat, and Inojin could trace his fingers along the softness of Shikadai’s t-shirt and feel the muscles shifting beneath.

“I wasn’t stopping you in your thought,” Shikadai pointed out, and Inojin flashed him a quick grin. Shikadai cupped his face gently, and Inojin flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away, although he kept his eyes down at Shikadai’s neck, waiting.

“I love you,” Shikadai whispered. “Just so you know.”

“I know,” Inojin’s voice wavered. He closed his eyes when Shikadai tilted his head up, lips automatically parting for the kiss he knew was coming. It was deep and slow, and Inojin’s hands dug harder into Shikadai’s skin. It was heady and dizzying but it didn’t feel overwhelming, and it didn’t feel as though they had to stop.

It was a feeling Inojin could chase forever.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'm awful at writing endings, never check to make sure I've wrapped up all loose ends, and just generally have no plan. So, hopefully, everything is more or less under control here. Thanks for all the support and feedback on this story - I wasn't expecting it. Hope everyone is keeping well  
> SpicedGold

“Shikadai!”

Shikadai bolted upright in bed, startled awake by Inojin’s yell. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

He stumbled out of bed, taking a step or two to find his stride, and burst into the lounge area.

Inojin was standing at the window, and the floor wasn’t covered in blood, and all Inojin’s limbs were still attached. Shikadai scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “Fuck, don’t scare me like that. What’s up?”

“Flowers are open,” Inojin said, bouncing slightly on his toes. “Look!”

“You woke me for flowers?” Shikadai sighed, slogging to the window.

The flowerpot was awash with colour – dozens of buds opened and turned towards the sun, the petals all spread wide.

“Flowers,” Inojin repeated, as though that was reason enough to scare the daylights out of Shikadai. He bounced a bit more, eyes down, smiling at the flowerpot.

“Ugh,” Shikadai rubbed his eyes again. “I love you, but don’t do that again. Flowers aren’t urgent. They can wait.”

“Flowers,” Inojin repeated, stuck on the thought. He brushed his fingertips across the petals, watching the plants sway under his touch. He grinned at them, delighted at the colours.

Shikadai yawned. “Can I go back to bed?”

“These are poppies,” Inojin said, seemingly not hearing him. “Orange ones – unusual. They look like the way Chocho says hello in the mornings.”

“Hm.”

“And this little pink one is the same colour I feel when we kiss.”

Shikadai sighed softly. Sleep was starting to feel very out of reach. But Inojin was happy, and talking, and Shikadai couldn’t bring himself to ever be annoyed by that. He decided to indulge. “All your feelings have colours?”

“Don’t yours?” Inojin looked surprised.

Shikadai shrugged. “I dunno. You see the world differently. Everything just looks like it should, to me.”

“Feelings have colours,” Inojin replied. “Thoughts have colours.”

“I know you see colours when you look at people’s thoughts.” Shikadai glanced at the flowers. “Any of my thoughts in there?”

“Your thoughts are usually green and grey,” Inojin said. “Not a lot of flowers like that.”

“Guess not.”

There was a short pause, then Inojin blurted out, “All your ‘I love you’s are red.”

“Are they?” Shikadai asked, a bit surprised.

Inojin bit his lower lip, but nodded firmly.

“Show me,” Shikadai prompted.

Inojin turned his attention back to the flowers, and touched his fingers gently to a crimson red flower, just beginning to open. “This is an aster. They mean patience.”

He glanced at Shikadai to check he was still listening. “Asters and daisies are . . . kinda twin flowers? They’re the same?”

“Okay,” Shikadai nodded. When Inojin didn’t add anything more, Shikadai asked, “What colour do you think ‘I love you’ in?”

Inojin bit his lip, contemplating, and stared at the buds. Finally, he whispered, “Lilac.”

“Are there any in that pot?”

“Haven’t found any yet. But not everything has grown. Maybe they’ll come later.”

“Yeah,” Shikadai smiled. “Maybe they’ll grow after the asters do. It happens sometimes.”

Inojin sent him a puzzled glance, but didn’t question him. He looked at the flowers again, lost in the colours.

“Come to bed,” Shikadai said. “It’s too early to be up.”

“Not tired.”

“I am.”

“Don’t wanna touch.”

“That’s okay. We don’t have to touch at all.” Shikadai scratched a vague itch on his ribs. “Well, I’m going to bed. Play with your flowers.”

Inojin flashed him a grin then, before staring at the flowers once more.

Shikadai left him and dropped back into bed. They had a busy and slightly unsettling morning ahead of them, but Inojin seemed calm about it, even if he was baulking away from physical contact. That didn’t bother Shikadai.

Shikadai had almost fallen asleep again when he heard Inojin patter into his room. He cracked one eye open in time to have a green blanket draped over him, followed by the sudden weight of Inojin flopping half on top of him.

Shikadai folded a corner of the blanket back enough to get air, and asked, “You okay?”

“Yes.”

Shikadai felt the beanbag being squished between his shoulder blades, and firmly held in place by Inojin’s head. He smiled to himself. It was heartening to see Inojin seeking closeness even when over excited or withdrawn. It made Shikadai hopeful for the future, secure that whatever happened would be easily overcome.

“Hey,” he whispered, waiting for the confirming headbutt to let him know Inojin was listening. “I know we keep saying everything’s gonna be okay . . . but I think I believe it now.”

Inojin stayed quiet.

“We can do anything. You and I. You know, if you want to.” He paused then. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking over where I want life to go. Wondering what I should do. I don’t have the answers to all that, but I know a few things.” He bit his lower lip briefly. “I know I love you. And I know my parents are happy with me. And I know I’m making a difference. So I guess I know all the important things. Most of them,” he stared at the green blanket. “I still need to know that you’re happy . . .”

“Am,” Inojin whispered. He squirmed a bit, trying to get simultaneously closer and further away from Shikadai. “Am happy.”

Shikadai let out a breath.

“I know things, too,” Inojin continued, in a soft voice, slightly muffled. “I know flowers grow and I know what colours all your thoughts are . . .”

_And lilac means you love me_ , Shikadai added in his head. He didn’t need to hear it said aloud. He already _knew_ , and that’s all he needed.

It had been Sai’s request – to put Inojin through a simulated mission with none of his teammates present. It wasn’t just a test of Shikadai’s signs in combat, but also confirmation that Inojin could cope if he didn’t have Chocho and Shikadai around him, and didn’t have their familiar presence and their predictability to lean on.

Inojin, after careful thought, had said yes.

“You want to be a shinobi,” Sai had said. “And I want to know that no matter what happens, you’ll be as safe as you can be.”

Sai selected the team for Inojin, with Sarada leading, including Boruto, and Iwabe, who Inojin had never worked with before.

It was making Shikadai nervous. He was waiting on the edge of one of the training grounds, arms crossed and shoulders hunched, eying Inojin and his team in the distance, while Sai spoke to them.

“He’ll be fine,” Ino said, at Shikadai’s side, looking no more relaxed. “Sarada’s been allowed to do whatever she wants.”

“I know,” Shikadai muttered. “She told me about it. They need to find a hidden scroll somewhere on the training grounds, Sai’s got a bunch of instructions in it, and a couple Chuunin hiding and ready to defend the scroll. Inojin’s team just need to find the scroll and do what it says. Easy.” Shikadai pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Lot of communication needed for that . . .”

“He’ll be fine,” Ino repeated again, with a bit of a sigh. “I hope.”

Shikadai skewed his jaw pensively to one side. Chocho had chosen not to be there, stating that she would make Inojin nervous because she would be nervous. Shikadai couldn’t fault her logic – he didn’t want to be there, either.

“I don’t know if I can watch,” Shikadai muttered.

“Stay right here,” Ino ordered. “You will take this with me. He needs you here.”

“What if something happens?” Shikadai asked. “Geez, Boruto’s not that quick at signing, what if Inojin misses something? Oh, god, what if I screwed something up with the signs and Sarada can’t say something to him?”

“All of decryption verified your signs,” Ino said, swallowing. “The system works fine.”

He knew he shouldn’t be nervous. Inojin had been working with him and Chocho under these exact same conditions for years. But everything felt different, and more potent, and he was glad they were far away and wouldn’t influence Inojin with their mutterings and concerns. And this exercise was basically Sai saying that Inojin was safe and allowed free reign to do whatever he wanted.

This was Inojin’s gateway to better things, to harder challenges, to harder missions.

Shikadai shifted in place. “Sarada looks like she’s winding down her mission briefing. They’ll start soon.”

“And they’ll be fine,” Ino muttered, although she looked as tense as Shikadai felt.

He heaved a sigh, and stared at the ground.

“How are things between you two?” Ino asked in a tight voice, obviously hoping to distract herself.

“Fine,” Shikadai shrugged. “No problems.”

“How’s the new medication doing?”

“Doing great,” Shikadai glanced across the field, eyes on Inojin as he tentatively nodded along to Sarada’s words and signs. “He doesn’t get overwhelmed as much anymore.”

“Anything you need to talk to me about?” Ino brushed some hair behind her ear, drawing in another sharp breath as Sarada signalled everyone into position, and Inojin sprang out of view.

“Nope.” Shikadai shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling a bit more relaxed at seeing how quickly Inojin had moved. “Everything’s great.”

Ino nodded slowly, seemingly happy with his answer. They stood in silence, eyes tracking the field, occasionally catching sight of Inojin.

Ino spoke first, “And he’s still happy with everything you’re doing . . .? I mean, kissing and other activities?”

Shikadai sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, we’re taking it slow, and it’s nothing bad, and I’ll let you know if I have any questions, or if he asks something I’m not sure about. You don’t need to worry about us.”

“It’s my job to worry.”

“Yeah, I know.” Shikadai smiled fondly into the distance. “But we’re good. We’re fine. We’re happy.”

Ino glanced at him. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

Inojin didn’t come bouncing back to them. He walked slowly next to Sarada, who was smiling broadly. Inojin stared at the ground, fingers twisting together.

“He did great,” Sarada called, as soon as she was close enough. “Handled everything perfectly.”

“Hey, sunshine,” Ino greeted brightly.

Inojin shrugged one shoulder vaguely in acknowledgement, not looking at them.

“You okay?” Shikadai asked, and that coaxed a small nod from Inojin. Shikadai assumed he was just feeling a bit overwhelmed. That was fine. Being quiet after missions was normal for him.

Shikadai signed at him, ‘Can you talk?’

Inojin shook his head, but signed back, ‘I’m just tired.’

“Okay,” Shikadai said. “That’s fine.”

He sent Ino a questioning look, but she was smiling softly and looking quietly satisfied. Inojin’s silence wasn’t cause for alarm, and the fact that he was still signing, still present, was enough.

Sarada gave Shikadai a thumbs up, coupled with a wide grin. “I’m happy to use him on a team any time. Everyone communicated fine. Oh, and Namida’s actually mentioned she prefers signing on missions because she can use her jutsu and still talk to her team, so,” Sarada shrugged. “Thanks, Shikadai. It’s useful.”

Shikadai nodded, eyes on Inojin. “Cool.”

“Oh,” Sarada turned to Inojin, holding up a hand. There were two flowers painted on her wrist. “You didn’t use these.”

“He didn’t?” Shikadai blinked. Inojin activated the flowers whenever he needed help, or felt like he wasn’t managing.

Inojin stared fixedly at the ground, chewing on his lower lip.

“No, he didn’t need any help. Did everything I asked, perfectly,” Sarada assured. Some of the tension left Shikadai’s shoulders.

“I’ll report back to Sai, and then we’re all done,” Sarada added brightly. “But it was definitely a success.”

Shikadai let out a sigh. “Well. Couldn’t have asked for more.”

Sarada left them, and Ino gently got Inojin’s attention, asking, “Do you want to come with me, or stay with Shikadai?”

Inojin kept his eyes down, but he carefully tangled his fingers with Shikadai’s.

Shikadai glanced at Ino. “Is it okay if we go off?”

“Yes,” she smiled gently. “Go on. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Shikadai tugged Inojin away, and Ino watched them wander off, with Shikadai murmuring things in a low voice.

Sai appeared at her side, head tilted a bit as he observed the boys. “That went well.”

Ino nodded. “Look at them.”

“They look happy.”

“Our little flower child’s growing up,” Ino said lightly. “And he’s got the whole world to be free in.”

They sat side by side on a bench, overlooking the river that ran through Konoha. It was late afternoon, and they were debating going out for dinner, or having it at home. Chocho had already gone off to hang out with Sarada, leaving her boys to while the hours away.

“I’m taking some of our flowers with me tomorrow,” Inojin said, staring at the water as it babbled by. “To the hospital, to show everyone.”

Shikadai nodded, linking his hands behind his head. “Cool.”

“Do you know there’s a girl at the hospital like me?” Inojin shifted in place, emotions bubbling out of him. “She doesn’t like to look at people either, and she also likes colours.”

“Does she talk?”

“Yeah. She’s at the hospital because she gets sick a lot. But Mom heard about her and let her talk to me. She likes to talk. Sometimes I can’t hear her properly, but she likes it when I listen anyway.”

“Are you going to teach her the signs?”

Inojin shrugged, and fell silent again. He watched the river flowing by, fascinated by the sunset rays on the rippling surface. It made amazing patterns, and he wondered if he could paint it accurately. He leant forwards, as though to get closer, making a careful study of the way the light moved and the colours it made.

A moving reflection caught his eye, and he snapped his head up.

Iwabe, Denki, and Metal were walking on the other side of the river, chatting aimlessly among themselves. Denki saw them first, and waved cheerily.

Inojin sat up straighter, while Shikadai detached one arm from behind his head and returned the wave lazily. To Inojin’s surprise, Denki stopped walking and somewhat hesitantly signed at them, ‘How are you?’

Inojin looked at Shikadai, who shrugged and murmured, “Say something to him.”

Carefully, Inojin replied, ‘Fine.’ He checked in with Shikadai again, who smiled at him.

Denki’s grin was clearly visible, and he signed back, ‘Enjoy your evening.’

The trio continued walking on, and Inojin stared at Shikadai. After a long silence, he said softly, “He talked to me.”

“Yeah,” Shikadai agreed. “He did.”

“. . . Are you teaching everyone . . .?”

“I didn’t teach him at all,” Shikadai replied. “He learnt from someone else.”

“. . . People are learning.”

“They are,” Shikadai nodded.

“So lots of people can talk to me, and I’ll always be able to understand them.”

“Yup.”

Inojin fell silent then, thinking hard. The world was opening up around him. It was bright and inviting, filled with people to hear him and listen to him. There wasn’t the same nagging loneliness that had trailed him for so long.

Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but it was something new, like a new flower blooming wide.

“Thanks,” he said, even though that single word didn’t feel like enough. There should be more, but that was all he had to offer.

Shikadai didn’t seem to mind, smiling sideways at him, expression soft and eyes softer.

“I told you I’d change the world for you, if I could,” Shikadai said.

Inojin looked at him, studying the sombre profile of his face. He linked their fingers together, took hold of a lilac coloured thought and let it roam out of his mind and into Shikadai’s.

_Turns out you can._

_< The End >_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
